for moosemas (still requires editing)

[calli_wulffe]

dirt
3.23.2007

i frequently wondered
what he was doing
carrying bag
after bag
after bag of dirt
to his room

not just any dirt
but rich brown dirt
that smells of
nothing but earth -
not fetid marshes
or soft clay
so one day when he
left his room i peered in

the air was as fresh
as if there
was an open window
and i saw green

there was grass and
trees and i was sure
i was seeing ireland
for all the green
and the yellow of
trout lillies
and the blues
of the bells

i could hear birds
and a steady trickle
of water and part of
me wandered if this
was magic or just
insanity

later i found him
curled up amongst
the bleeding hearts
and speedwell and i

realized that this
was both as i
kissed his lips
which were as soft
as wild poppies