whose nest

She makes you feel like you're being questioned. Though, she rarely answers a question.
She responds with collosal actions like flood or unbearable silence like famine. One can't keep from asking if she's worth all these breaths. Vocal chords resonating without voice. Sore throat far from quenching, wine surely does not work. Standing still, remaining only a modest man on her is the only way known. She's earth to all. Covered by the illusory promises called sky that she keeps in place. Upward graves can not resist the gravity.