From the collection: Roots
The Compost Surprised Us
A pile of unholy odds: we chucked in
bowlfuls of rinds, pits, shells and
already-rotting vegetables, and forgot
to turn it, and Brian once wondered aloud
over beer and tacos: is anything, you know,
happening out there?
The day we finally shoveled to the black
bottom, we too were transformed
by the rich, dark, beetle-starred soil,
alchemy of new beginnings.
We had never thought the work
could be done so simply upon us:
every piece rejoining the earth
by an inevitable gravity;
the earth promising ends,
Divinity of Kin
I am not human.
I am a mountain being.
I am a mountain
I am of branch-birds
& the goatfooted,
the musky feathersoft moss -
It is easy to cross the stream
looking not ahead at the water,
only watching these feet
on this stone,
this one, this
Yes, cross the stream by the laughingtrunk bamboo -
and move like the water:
here, alive, divine.