Does not the earth perhaps extrude

From solar flares the very food


Or light by which I see,

Inventing that which first made me,


Our seemingly self-reliant luge

Drawn from orbit's centrifuge,


The galaxy granting no more than it

Loses to our pulling planet,


Grudging only just the layer

We exact by being there,


Lending all the gravity of earth

To the force that gave us birth,


And thus erasing any debt

To the land which we ourselves abet,


To the world which we permit

To let us let it sit.


August 10th, 2002

Tippet Alley

Redone November 16th, 2002