Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

It beckons, this spirit-filled mist,

like some earthly firmament; this quilted sage

and moss expanse can blank out a racist

boss; its trails will heal our trials and rage.

We hear the cadence of our breaths

and squelched percussion of our boots,

walking beneath these branches bent

into regal arches; talking till we soothe

our too-full minds, we walk for miles.

Next week we’ll see the heathers bloom.

Like us, some may forget they thrive

until, watched by this full-day moon,

like ancient rocks lying where they please,

we’re couched by this soft earth and these dry weeds.