Only the cloud rat knows
how to scale the tree
of heaven, whose roots
are hidden in fog
from mortal view.
And only the rough-
skinned tubers in the field
might possibly know the volume
and density of time, or how
the worms have mastered its
parceling-out. What does it matter
if it is tortoise or serpent
that grinds the wobbly
axis of the world? The sky
is portent and mystery,
the sea’s architecture
encoded in salt; the wood
is wild or so I think, only
because I have not learned
to read the wood in me.
[LAG-two-sources url1=”https://www.vianegativa.us/2014/12/statement-of-ecopoetics/” title1=”Via Negativa: Statement of ecopoetics” url2=”https://www.vianegativa.us/2014/12/observers-credo/” title2=”Via Negativa: Observer’s Credo”]