Percolate

loose garden soil shifts with the passage of a mole
or the vagaries of late winter wind
this image billows in
the east end of Little Granite Mountain
a blustery overcast summer day
the exposed dirt more a mixture of light brown and fine dust
punctuated with neat piles of moist chocolate colored intention
pushed up by mountain top gophers
a metaphor for what lies under

our surfaces dingy and washed clear of meaning
and sometimes the verities and epiphanies rise up
percolate into our lackadaisical day-to-day complacency
awareness that shocks, stuns, or seduces
by insidious degrees
this windswept memory frozen in my mind’s eye
attentive to the knowledge
that buried things will eventually make themselves known

[RK, 2/19/22]