Milieu is the right word for it—
it holds more than what the eye can see
like a garden—
flourish is the best way to describe it—
nurtured by Mothering hands
but growing on its own terms.
Which way will that vine crawl?
Both up and across, free,
wherever she may live, wild
profound and broad like an ocean
with life unseen,
hidden, the Sea’s secret,
unknown by divers—
her vast reserves captured by no thief.
ground of the air
this milieu is what you made
a poem by Troy Cady