Consider the dinosaur at the mossy spring,
The massive shape, the wide-spaced feet
Shuffling slowly among stuttering ferns.
Its words are movements, steps placed
Then underlined by long heavy tail,
Leaving pool-words, phrases of bent bracken.
When time turns spongy soil to bound loam,
On quarried slab is dinosaur’s sparse poem.
Now consider raven’s dark bent wing: purpled,
Glossy, burnished by rushing air and light,
A shinning plow turning space and time,
Roiling wind into great waves, and each row,
Feather-formed, foams the parched white shore,
Line after surging line. The impossible shells:
Each placed there as glistening words, epic words,
Each set there by the whirling quill.
