forever soil

not that i ever could understand it
but i found the place where the world ends,
where it begins again, where it becomes itself
in repetition, like some chromosome,
some clone of the unknown;
i held the crossroads in cupped hands
wet and aromatic with a strange mix
of decay and renewal,
just a handful of soil, ancestral dust
and flowing with fresh blood.
with just one handful of dirt
the world ended
and began anew.

the stains never leave, one can never wash
the evidence of time from the hands,
it only grows within you, should you
hold it.

time grows inward like roots
blood flows outward like perpetual birth,
and the soil builds, earth makes bones
from stones of solid blood, magnetic
and purposeful like being sunken.
the world ends and begins where i found it,
within my grasp, damp and rich,
basic and singular, a complex of the cosmos,
the cellular memory of millenia
unified in something as simple as soil,
soft and mother-like.

not that i really understand
but i found a fingerprint of forever,
the blood of something mysterious,
the memory of some distant fire.