every body has a secret mother
a tide wraps its leg around the shoal
small creatures ink their likeness
flitting shadows across the shoreline
i am combing my memory of mountains for you
for you finding everything left behind
like my father i sift inertly
everything has failed to germinate
everything lucky now carries a certainty
one currency fungible another intransigent
in tide pools everything is questioned twice
the concept of god smears its dream across the cosmos
and in the ocean where a whale may stop
and sink below the roots of everest
prayers are offgassed briefly to flotsam
half to be swallowed by shorebirds half to be sublimed
thinly into mesosphere
since we repeat ourselves so endlessly
i dug a hole straight through the mountain.
one ghost breathes death into another another
another another until something goes wrong.
clay writhes terrified in sine waves as platonic forms
gather mass in the night. water dodging steam.
particles gorgonize form. the stomata of plants
part and purge old memories mistaken for rain.
absorbed by the soil you with your sad bare eyes
remember unfortunately everything over.
you do the unoriginal. you laugh. you cry. you curse.
you fall. sad animal, dig! there's something
on the other side.
Mira Moss Crime arranged those words. you read them. thanks! more in petrichor twenty-one, and here’s a website.
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