dearest figments,

how’s life up north in the mind country, yes
you are very much like figments and i

often feel superimposed here

spending most days in three states:
seeming activity streams forth forever

often we place time in glass containers to watch it feed off itself, grow, mutate, multiply, et

cetera all the while worms go on digesting earth beneath our feet, roots

a colony of petri dishes, things of the senses, the lovely here, what its form is:
slugs hanging around the compost pile today

all the while our livers, lungs i said what’s distance

no i mean i don’t know what it is everywhere
is here even there nowhere i looked

could i find what i was looking for what i was looking for was everywhere what i was, looking,
for was, everywhere, what was i looking for, yes

this day was a dervish

at the same time i found my          buried in an atoll
i was bandaging my fingers geographically speaking

and life that constant kaleidoscope

went on ahead traveling right angles away from here
while i stayed behind laughing forehead to foreground, palms and lips

because i am trying to grow my heart
it’s so tiny

ants are tiny too

no, not compared to a poppy seed
the earth eats banana peels and corn husks

coffee grinds and drier lint, itself, i, left outside outside in the rain

all night

was thinking of cytoplasm
it’s good to think of cytoplasm
even if cytoplasm doesn’t often think of us

ants too

all the while paramecium…

(are all these mosquitoes yours i can’t bring myself to kill even one) and
why do so many people keep their good solitude in a tank

i mean to ask them
is there enough air in there but then

          a wave in the mindstuff:
          this soil smells like India my little eyes have a body and

          when i remove my shoes
          i have feet

toes, p.s. i too
love wetlands and dead trees, nighttime

always, always:
always

Sara Lefsyk currently lives Somewhere in Massachusetts
where she is often busy reorienting material reality.