Ripples from breath
a turtle dives backwards into water
small waves surround her point
of submergence.
Squirrels twist
up trees tail-first, and overhead
clouds billow west. Beech trees pulse
green into golden leaves
and around me an unmarking
of hands. Lovers’ carvings burst in sap.
Nails squeak from waterfront homes
bury themselves into the dirt.
Dead trees erect themselves
from small pieces of rot
sopping jigsaw puzzles
that fit and grow hard.
On the lake
jet skis are replaced
by fishing boats and then canoes
and now the water quickens
at the breaking of a dam.
People onshore are quieter
their voices make room
for puma screams, pumas
whose teeth grow with the cold
the echo steps of a mastodon into frost.
The people retrace their steps. Now, as before
animals stretch and squeeze the form:
deer become rats
the lizard on the bark
grows stretch-necked.
To a new warmth! it thunders
as chewed needles reassemble
on the conifer.
Now even the moss begins
its march to meet the sea
and I am flooded in fish and bugs.
Sinking lower
I hear only rock voices now, single cells
huddled around deep black cracks. Hold on
against the moon which grows larger,
returns to us as we bumble
toward bigger masses
undoing a complicated game of billiards.
Collision into one
space between lips
small ripples, inhalation of breath.
—
Bradley Allf is a postdoctoral researcher at Colorado State University studying ecology. He also works as a freelance science writer and his work has appeared in a variety of publications, including Smithsonian, Sierra, Undark, Atlas Obscura, and Scientific American. Bradley is a co-author on the project formerly known as the National Nature Assessment and is contributing to the chapter on nature’s intangible benefits.
