Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Principia natura


Now is the season of the thistle's airborne seed,
the tick-trefoil and stick-tights of the beggar-weed,

the spring-steel pods of the touch-me-not that curl
back like hair-trigger catapults to hurl

their pips, the mushrooms with paper-thin gills
pepper-specked with invisible spores that spill

into the wind, the stalked capsules of the broom moss
squirting a pea-green dust, the smuts, the gloss

of molds, the mildew, the rusts, the insect egg-
cases clustered en masse around the twig,

the alga scum that floats on the brown flood
that runs in the ditches, the rank green blood

of the stinkhorn: husks and leavings in our path,
theorems on the identity of life and death.