One last hurrah: yesterday I was texting someone about the new Soil Science Club and I managed to send a message about
soul science
under the sharp green blades of lightly
hold it between your thumbs and blow
are the grains the clods the dusts
from whence you came of middle earth
sand clay silt layers that call for
a hole is to dig and delve
a trip into a pit deep and deeper hold
your breath in the tunnel the sundered
under the dark deposits the buried
fossils of the prehistoric self a
way to make of the soul a practical
system of study dispassionate measures
that leave you sweaty streaked with
dirt under the nails in need of a long bath
I love it when typos lead to wisdom!
ReplyDeleteFor me, your poem captures the reason why people garden -- it feeds the soul. There are discoveries there, a connection with our prehistoric selves.
ReplyDelete