when we’re mostly dark matter
repurposed star dust
pulled by ocean tides
heliotropic, gravitating toward star
probably one bit of a multiverse
where everything already happened
and will happen again
differently
where cold comets come for weeks
some stopping by bearing water
and a skink riding a wave from one continent to the next
makes a whole new animal
our bodies crackle with electricity
our blood the same salinity as sea
within us colonies of bacteria hum
tiny parasites consume our cast-off cells
inside our limbs: rock becomes bone
inside our throats: haunting overtones
inside our sleeping minds: portentous dreams
inside our clasped fingers: paintbrush, scalpel, toddler’s hand
every morning: sunrise
every night: sunset
the stars wheel, auroras pulse
and questions we haven’t learned to ask or answer slowly surface
like
how could anyone be bored here
ever?
—
Erin Robertson teaches outdoor nature writing classes and is Writer in Residence for Friends of Coal Creek. Her poetry has been published in journals and recorded by The Crossing. Past honors include being a guest artist hosted by the U.S. Consulate in Kazakhstan, Voices of the Wilderness Artist in Residence in Alaska, and Boulder County Artist in Residence. She lives in Louisville, Colorado with her remarkable husband, two sons, parakeet, and pup. www.erinrobertson.org
