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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The World Is…

The world is growing.
Salt is becoming transparent
in a house of light.
Roots are traveling through the dirt,
white hands
reaching for subterranean rain.
Clouds are turning into canyons
of sound,
in a crisscross of valleys and glaciers.

Spiders are spinning webs
in the corners of my room.
Even my toenails have a separate life
protecting my tired feet.
The cauldrons of volcanos
are amassing their power
to shout at the continents.

Atoms are assembling galaxies
to brighten the night.
The world is going somewhere,
arms and legs,
making something out of nothing,
quiet, listen, a sound like no other.

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