Tuesday, August 7, 2007

"Decomposition Composition"

I hope this letter reaches you.
I gave it to a worm,
Whispered instructions
Only it, the smallest worm, could understand:
Tunnel 90 miles west, I told it.
Burrow deep into the soil
So this letter picks up wisdom
From the earth and bones
And sticks and stones.
When finally you crawl back
To green grass and purple skies,
Find the boy with blue eyes
Who will sing even you,
The smallest worm, a song.


If indeed this note has reached you,
I hope your eyes are still blue,
That you still sing to worms,
That you remember the song
Our hands played together
Like harps nimbly plucked
Or toe shoes dancing on marimbas.
I hope you remember it all
Like the dirt remembers
Our bodies when we’re gone,
Remembers our song,
And breathes it into new life
Like an aria sweet and urgent.
Time is a diva.


If you find this letter in error,
Please return it to my worm.
Bend down to whisper instructions
Only it, the smallest worm, can understand:
Tell it to tunnel 90 miles east,
Burrow deep into the soil
So this letter picks up wisdom
From the humus and root
And gravel and soot.
When finally it crawls back
To green grass and purple skies,
It will find me listening underground
For a song from you
And preparing to be sung myself.

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