Stones

curious to live on an earth without stones, no stones at all

as if the soil were a pure mud, partially dried out & willing to be soil

loam, tilth, sand — under some of my mulch the not

even half-rotted contents of my compost bins, material to raise

the elevation, my bins are full again, full of spring weeds

supplemented with prunings, kitchen waste, paper waste

what is waste? some waste I cover with weed, some waste

I package in plastic & toss back to the world, which has no way

to dispose of it, as I have no way, I have no woods to carry

gnawed bones to, though now I do put metal in the compost

nails & screws, I leave brads in cardboard slabs, I’m restoring

base elements to the earth where they came from

rocks are something you can discover & collect & pile up

or mix into the soil to lighten it, my soil is a damp mound

sometimes a slurry, as it is out front on the west & puddling side

after yesterday’s hard rain, hard & heavy, yet pollen in yellow smears

still marks the front porch, it will take a bucket & a mop to clear them

according to McPhee geologists are constantly hammering at rocks

filling bags with rocks, carrying them home on airplanes

what’ve you got in here, rocks? McPhee claims
that plate tectonics is the theory theorists love
but rock hunters love the greater complexity of break-rock geology

machines detect the shape of what’s under

soil, the depth of harder rock, of thickness & angles

what can’t be plumbed by machinery? plumbing not the same

as understanding, more like touch & wonder