When the environment deteriorates,
we do, too, so I compost coffee grounds
and recycle green glass. The cadaver goes
to a friend’s maggot farm where it is turned
into chicken feed. Where there is danger,
there also grows something to save us.
Bathers at the lake act upon their urges
and create an atmosphere of freedom. The thieving
financier becomes a priest with a shelter.
Me—I have no biological function and grow
like a cabbage without making divisions
of myself. Still, I have such a precise feeling
of the weeks recycling, of a stranger’s arrival,
and the tumult righting itself.