Poetry

compost


Ancient earth
Ancient dirt
Layers of death pressed into life

A thousand and one
Cycles of evolutions
To create this compression

I feel the whisper
Of life buried and overturned
And spread out across surfaces

How can you think you know me?
I am a cycle of evolutions too
I am made up of a million and one
Deaths pressed into life

I am not me
You are not you
We are made of each other
And of the ground we’ll return to