Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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4 92 2013  

The soil that lives

The solid soil Under the soles of my feet Ground to fine dust By the winding winds In their incessant dance, The soil that lives Connects my thoughts To the round world. The soil is the link Between the earth and me. Yet some may think The soil has soiled us. But I embrace that thought, For I am deeply And profoundly Soiled: My roots are enmeshed In the dirt below Entangled in a choreography Of lives and moves Of sites and routes; My leaves feed me As they resist dissociation And fall every year Into fruitful association With the never-ending soil. Beware For the speech of things, No! The voices of life Are all asleep When the soil is reaped And deemed improper For human minds To thrive. Then silence reigns Throughout the night, The abstract ruler of Concrete cities of Glass and steel, Devoid of soils and roots And leaves and trees. The silence of death And of meaninglessness.