this whole time, we've been
doing it wrong:
searching for life
as metabolites
in the frozen oceans
of Jupiter's moons
when, in truth,
it burns cleanest
in the flame of our mistakes.
Our small losses
accrete, and the travesty
gains mass
til it condenses
and falls down
and puddles like rain
in the sedimentary layers
of rock-hard
before and after.
In fact, so rich is the vein
in the dirt
beneath our feet
that to say we could sort it
and give it a name
would defy any meaning
or endeavor
to explain.
