Crackling comets colliding
and inside a stiff sprung box Earth lay dying.
There are more synaptic connections in a brain
than there are atoms in the universe.
Crusted blood cracked and crusted crumbling to the floor
and there grew treasonous trees,
unnatural nature.
Life sprung from life sprung from death,
The matter, what’s the matter, it never dies just changes form.
Each separate spot, treaded like an old stitch rethreaded
dinosaurs, plants, people passing breath after breath.
There will always be something left.
And we have no roots, no ties to an earth, free to roam
like old lions, lying and lying about.
No matter how long you remember being here, your cells are only seven years old, held by a membrane of change, arranged in a format that remains unexplained.
The eye of a needle can only go so small and dogs see the world through smell.
Will the people remember what we remember?
A collective consciousness of all history encompassed.

I watch as a rising bloom has turned to rose,
nature spreads like butter as we raise a toast.