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Incidental Observations While Awaiting My Turn
As if recalling a crucifixion, a trio of cormorants, black wings spread
wide, mount a sinew of driftwood. The water surrounding them scarlet
with sunfall. At the pond’s far shore a congregation of egrets pause, still
as unlit candles in the savannah of moss draped oak, as below them
jewel eyed mallards rise among the reeds.
I arrive just in time to feel the fierce rhizome of sunbeam plowing
apart the loam of sky, bursting loose from the dark scree of rough cloud.
The rain, intent on burrowing into the ground, is gone. Morning
sips up the night’s scent. Each root a tangled history of thirst, undone
by the sorrow of the passing storm. Each leaf touched, a verdant dynamo
humming with regeneration. A multitude of microscopic creatures
punch the time clocks of their lives, and go about the business
of earning their living, chewing at the soil’s grim cud. Me,
I wait my turn in the queue, not quite sure what I am
in line to receive (however I have my suspicions).
Interdisciplinary exhibition: 
DIRT? Scientists, Artists and Poets Reflect on Soil and Our Environment

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