Moon of Green Grass. Moon of Hatchings.
Somewhere between here and then—

terra incognita, endless series of vistas,
of horizons, of claims to the land.

Let us name this place after
its original possessors or near

enough, but their name translates
to snake, read as copperhead—

too deadly. Let us honor the terrain
we have crossed, and in crossing

have gathered to us, made seamlessly
our own. Land of hides & bone,

of gold & earth yet to be plundered,
of council groves and fence lines, wind

farms & silos dug into the earth
for missiles & yet we can never say

enough. Still it shines & we grasp for it.