Whispers from Rock

It flows through cracks in the earth,
up through cracks in the crumbling ground,

from oil and darkness,
from caves and holes in the walls of rock,
from green water deep down,

filtered like rain round the roots of trees --

trees' tongues live deep,
practicing sound --

bringing up the scents of fires,
flowing round stones, grey, smooth stones, brown,
sucking up scents of births of time,
peering in at sleeping mice --

shut eyes blinking, dreaming of plant stalks,
tail tips curled to nose tips tight
in a ball, waiting for berries and dew --

swirling round brown coccoons, winged fruit,
up to where the earth is soft,
rising toward the chinks of light,
up between chips of sand and grass roots swollen with melted snow,
bringing the blackness up -- sweet peace of depth,
and fires of lava and mole breath musk --
up, out, spraying like water,
growing like blood, gleaming like silver,
reflecting the sun like dripping glass,
sunlight from clouds of dirt rising,
sparking stars, raining fireflies,

winged fireflies,
swamp dragonflies,
blue-bottle flies,
abalone shells,

glinting ground diamond rivers,
windblown tinsel,
desert dawn,
living light released in the air,
rising like fire,
misting to song.