The Prince of Dirt

The Prince of Dirt
Where is the thing that really matters I look at the dirt, searching.
There must be something here, I think.
With a magnet, I loosen the soil, and sand iron comes up. Not this, I think.
With a shovel, I dig into the dirt, and a mole comes out. Not that either. I can't see it.
I look at the dirt. There's stone, there's sand, endless amounts of it. Could it be stars, I wondered.
The same way, I look up at the sky, but with our eyes, we can't see them.
So, I look at the universe under my feet.
The mole, too. The sand iron, too. All part of the stars.
The thing that really matters it's nowhere at all.
Everything is scattered, and yet it's one.
The inorganic. The organic. Equally, existing in the same place.
Just by looking down, I realize everything is the universe. Everything is the universe.
I look at the dirt. There's stone, there's sand, endless amounts of it. Could it be stars, I wondered.
The same way, I look up at the sky, but with our eyes, we can't see them.
So, I look at the universe under my feet.
The mole, too. The sand iron, too. All part of the stars.
The thing that really matters it's nowhere at all.
Everything is scattered, and yet it's one.
Everything is the universe. Everything is the universe.
I close my hand around the dirt, and bring it to my mouth.
The universe tastes like dirt.
Today too, I am part of the dirt. Until the day I return to it.
So the thing that really matters there isn't one.