Metamorphosis

By my house there’s a slash of wild

hidden between two subdivisions,

a meadow of tall grasses dotted with wooden poles

topped by handmade homes for the birds

we’re not sure will get the point of our largesse,

bounded by some trees and a gravel path

that winds past a sign reminding me

what this place used to be: a dump,

our excess ploughed under to provide

this space I now wander while clutching 

an air horn in case I come across

any life that’s still a little too wild.

Look. We don’t yet know what we will be,

scattered seeds cast wide by some profligacy to fall

and rest in all manner of dirt,

coats split to welcome in the earth and fire

shoots high to taste the air and drink

atmosphere down into roots

winding through history, through refuse compacted into

something more useful than the remains

of our desire.