Under A Tree Poem by Conor Stephenson

Under dirt
we breathe in
Everything exists in one instant
in one way or another;
air fills the same space as soil
and the sound of our voice

Under sky
we breathe out, knowing
we are finite beings
Futility is self-defeating
The meaning of the world is self-evident and the
meaning of our existence is in our meat

We live to replace
We exist to cycle
through the barricade of negative capability
to the extent of awareness
and away to dirt again

Under water
we cease breathing