Martin Anderson
The Fossil
Roots grasp a
fossil as light
and insurgent as
air whose heart
is mist even
to itself whose
spores are red
somersaulting ditch
embankment so
long it has
layne covered
compressed being itself
while I have
worn my shoes
on the stones
above it and
rubbed their sparks
into the air
They hang here
in annual constellations
neither receding
nor advancing and
climb down into
the infinite strata
of the heart
and burn and
pile their ashes
If my hands
could grip between
them a hard
and cloudy fossil
I would pluck
and shine it
until it
gave back my
spoor my reflection
Page(s) 33
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