#394

A kid in Wyoming tugs on a wheat stalk,
and in China, a shrub shoots into the ground.

I'm sitting on a rock in the woods out of the city,
the sound of crowds with their arms in the air

hanging over the buildings in the distance
like a low-lying cloud, or swarm of gnats.

Beneath me, deep underground, is the stalagmite
that started the world--

In its base, a beating heart with tattoos
of every human face.

Ahead, the distance lights itself with noise.
We are all connected, and it is sad as all hell.

A milk-white salamander crawls out
from a crack in the rock,

slipping from underground water,
translucent skin long since coating its eyes.