Here's a poem this morning

 

It is all inchoate grasping & conclusion

Freezes wooden, lifeless, Daphne in arrested

Motion, a laurel swaying soft over the bank

Of the creek, footfall pattering into susurrus

& birdsong, the occasional tumble of stone

Under gathered current. Then we forget.

We think of a place

As only a place, fixed, extra-dynamic

hints of change nominally seasonal. 

A thumbprint holds a thousand deaths. 

Our microscopic lives

Humming with the fine filament of preposterous

Hopes. To matter. We matter. We are & so

We should. The creek coughs where slow ice

Jigged its curvature. A mountain sloughs ten feet

Of modest elevation. Every leaf desiccates & lets go. 

We are layer upon layer upon layer

Of extinction & gradual erasure, & nowhere, nowhere do

We look down to notice.

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