It's wide open here
with no buildings, monuments, things
that dwarf artificially the coyotes lurking
in urban underbrush,
the mountain hugging skies likes bosoms to it.
Life goes on a field trip, especially when death
transforms its light: signals, road work, satellites
through lands unmarked by constellations.
When we look for God, who is on the wall
of smoke and planets: expect something
that resembles a sea of persons, bounties
of expansive dust with faces, floating with expiry dates.
I am irrelevant but still matter.
Everything has been said but the thing that matters.
Hairs that scatter & shadows split
the sea of anemones whose light ascends into star splatter.
What has come to light
is an aerial web of systems unmapped,
cancers that mirror, parasites and cave dwellers,
people preying on people, the camps, the dispersed but
widely-connected broken body masters.
Among the occupations are hedge fund operators.
On the landing strips of styrofoam islands: Mad Max
mutinies feeding the bushes.
The scarcity fears & gated neighborhoods breaking the larger poor.
But the disorders of fauna & flora bring us together.
We get to know each other, failed enemies, becoming world
we haven't written the language of yet.
These are the forever matters, religions of players
that include feeding each other, the not-yet deities
within each to each, these not-gods but currencies of what exists
& how to travel the pathways of lungs of fellow travelers,
the how to articulate.
Amy King's latest book, The Missing Museum, is a co-winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. King teaches English & Creative Writing at SUNY Nassau Community College and serves on the Executive Board of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts. She also joins the ranks of Ann Patchett, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rachel Carson and Pearl Buck as the recipient of the 2015 Winner of the WNBA Award (Women's National Book Association).