Crickets have
Long held
A sacred contract
With worms, knowing
The earth
Has its
Wind and fire contacts
Its own power
To quake
Your left foot
Miles from your
Head. True
There is soot
In your nose
From artificial
Structures built
In the easiest places.
The earth is making itself
In an image you have never seen,
Heard about,
You will never
Have the chance
To remember.
Originally published by Firelands Review 1970
Marc Isaac Potter (we/they/them) … is a differently-abled writer living in the SF Bay Area.
Marc’s interests include blogging by email and Zen.
They have been published in Fiery Scribe Review,
Feral A Journal of Poetry and Art, Poetic Sun Poetry, and Provenance Journal.
Twitter is @marcisaacpotter.