and it takes me a triple-take to realize it's scanning me, or something near my ear—that must be it. No plant’s ever complimented my perfume—wait—there it goes again. Did you see that? [Time passes, drinks] "Sure, I remember when I thought you were a fern but you were! Who could blame me?" I tell the what’s now a magnificent purple tetrahedron, eggplant-sized cilia straining at its corners, just a hint of ferniness remains in its fingertips—enough to blush. We hug goodbye. The scent of flowers lingers around me the next day. Flying home, a decorative airport fern that really is a decorative airport fern says, "You smell nice." I don’t believe it, but it's still a happy ending.
Effigy Mounds National Monument, Iowa
Before there was the time we see
there was the time we saw through,
when the biggest bear lied down,
exhaled the boundary of herself—
woof!—and rolled onto her side.
Her family followed in a line,
bending like an oxbow lake,
crocheting holes in the land
where water bubbled through
(so much does bubble through).
Birds saw the bears
bubbling up and dug it.
So with wing fingers wide,
they pressed their feathered breasts
flat to the ground which sung
their own songs back at them but
way slower, like whale
Is that a yes or a no? the birds asked.
Yes, replied the ground.
Green grass grew over them,
which was a long, green love song.
Nearby, turtles, panthers, dogs
lost their boundaries…exhaled…then
found them again and became constellations.
What speed was the time
signature singing then when all those
holes in space opened up
and bear after bear,
bird after bird,
sun after sun lost
refound their shapes in
the long song, knowing
themselves at last for
what they were:
from every possible angle.