by Logan Garner
Of the moisture in the earth,
and the dark, musty soil,
ripe and rich with the film and girth
of one million earthworms:
Of the peat and muck, wet
and dripping brown water by the ounce
from a single squeezed handful:
Of the rocks and sand, dry filters all,
that let life’s nourishment
tumble, seep, and trickle downward
to invisible rivers beneath my feet:
Of water, miraculous, I am in wonder.
I drink it deep
and am truly alive in doing so.
I drink it in and am quenched.
I feel my physical being extend from chest and limb
down, even to the cellular level;
Analogous to what gurus must achieve
in those mental and spiritual heights.
I am recharged; newly resilient
if only for now.
For weak flesh thirsts again
for the sustenance that, I pray,
will be here, clean
and accessible all our days.
Logan Garner is a writer in Astoria, Oregon with a degree in science communication from Butler University. By day he evaluates craft beer and educates people on beer tasting, beer styles and beer history. By night he reads, writes and listens to vinyl records. It’s a rough life.