And as the rocks melt on this soup skin,
in this pot left on simmer for a few million years,
these memories push up through the soft spots.
And when God’s mashed potatoes have risen above the gravy,
as the earth pushes food around on its plates,
the crust commences its toasting.
the sky is brought closer to taste
Then boils and wrinkles form
and clouds are told to wait.
And as the memories return to the topsoil,
where
layer upon layer of evolutionary mistakes
and miraculous achievements of a certain age
ferment and transfuse
the translators of sun,
the birthplace of roots,
the netting of continents,
the boots
of Zeus.
And as those seeds are carried by
a prepubescent storm
to lava fields with hollow veins,
where trees will drink the fog and steam.
Plant becomes tree,
tree becomes soil.
And as the microbes nestle into corrosive roles
chewing rock into bites they can swallow
they burp air into the ground
for the fungus to follow
And as grasses form the scalp of aquifers
trapping the brain in this celestial solution
from which,
we rise for a time,
to look around,
to observe.
We splatter the surface with language and colors.
We use whatever energy we can harness to learn as much as we can
before that energy runs out
And then,
we return to the ground.
We return to the soup.
These memories are made of dirt.
My Name is Jeremy Snyder.
I am a 46 year old man who lives in Vallejo, California
Where I am currently the Poet Laureate
