We lack the lexicon
to commune with rising rivers
or decipher omens from driftwood.
But the winter beetle
beset with dusty drought
remembers the river’s rhapsodies.

When bridges wash out
do we purge neglect
that bottlenecks our restless recall
and do we steel obstinate
while gathering indifference
like ancient cockles at lowtide?

The upper tips of redwoods
blot the morning rolling fog
startling clouds
and the pine needles
reinforce bird nests
turn brittle but warm
at the higher boughs
of ceaseless cyan.

Come, brother banana slug.
Hither, sister hyacinth.
And consider, cousin caribou
that we make amends
and remember our familial bonds
linking us toward half a chance
at avoiding an easy extinction
together.

The post A Pill Bug Mutters Makeshift Myths appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.