And all this time

the answers lay, residual
beneath our feet.
Well as I live and breathe ...
So does my dust.  Returning to dust
is only a slight
inconvenience.

But was that primordial clay?
I walked across?
Should I shake
out my socks,
collect grains
from my shoes to compare
                  Cosmos
with that Martian meteorite
atop polar ice
right here on earth?

All this and more I have asked
between endless launches,
literary prizes
and marriages then children.
Billions and billions of stars
to distract me. I loved it all.

So do me a favor next time
you consider the Universe.
Begin with circuses and the Indy 500,
and all the city lights at night.
And speculate about the soil
watching, and laughing
at our clumsy efforts at evolution.
An epidermis of clay
waiting to be discovered.

L. Fullington
June 2014

Footnote:

On Mars . . .Wind blown clays . . .complex surfaces that can absorb and release gases and catalyze chemical reactions.
A kind of soil chemistry that does the same thing life does. . .
respiration and
photosynthesis.

If you have any comments on this poem, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.