Anamnesis 

A recollection of rain in green fingertips
tulip bulbs testing the air
nudging tiny conical hills in flowerbeds,
the swollen creek surges
into the last steelhead run
the rising Umpqua remembering spring.

I cannot attest the season as anamnesis,
that begs an old question
does the earth have a soul?
Let’s say, for our sake, it does,
What other life but its own can it recall,
spring is the same and different

from the last, summer slips into fall
with the memory of every bud
spire of grass and bug that fade in cold—
how else are there flowers
twisting darkness to light in April rain?

You laugh? Is it odd to think Gaea is a soul
you can save or destroy like your own?
Perhaps Plato was on to something.
Earth tell us how to live as we grow
formed the seasons long before we know.

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Earth Day 2020

 

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