Inheritance

I am the child of wind-swept hills that
Hold the treasures of the stars; of the
Jack Pine gullies and sand-kissed Wormwood
Dunes; of Lake Michigan and her
Ominous mother Superior.

To breathe the air swept clean across
Their waves and through these woods is to
Touch the hand of God. I will
Go to the wild, the place of worship,
And mourn my bitter inheritance, for
I am the child of what is gone
And lost.

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