This Planet
by Sylvia Ashby
What redeems this planet
is not beauty, not the benign boughs
of trees growing green and unaware;
or hills carelessly carved
by waters melting impulsively;
not the complacent moon,
fat and intact, casually winding;
or the show-off seasons,
shaped and cycled
by this mute, terrestrial top,
indifferently spinning.
Beyond the pattern of a flower, the design
of an insect’s wing, the graining of agate;
beyond the subtle feathering of birds
who fly without question;
more than meandering streams, random boulders;
more than mindless waves battering the shore
into accidents of sand—
what redeems this planet
is love: words, gestures, acts
given knowingly, willfully, lovingly
sometimes at a terrible price.