MAGNAFLORA
Here I am at Camp Lesion,
just waiting for the clouds to
pass. I can look around at
passing forms and recognize
new images : bluestone quarries,
header boulders, glacial flints.
The water runs down through
the rocks; avid reminders of
all that has been.
-
If dinosaurs ranged through
here - as is said - I don't
believe it; for that was still
a previous time before this one
I live. Far before our history.
Things unseen and not to be
touched. Miraculous?
-
Diatribes of the young and the
lonely - they fly around in
pealings of Tom Thumb words
as cyclical as test patterns on a
rocket-ship globe. I can hear them
all, and they all explode with the
grease-mob antics of their own
chefs and cooks.
-
This camp is a dirty mess. We've
already lost a few over the cliff,
and I'm sure we'll lose more.
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