(two for one today, again, because yesterday was a cock-up and today we get weird...) Hum(m)us Hearth of soil and soul of stone, gather us to your bosom. Hum us like warmth into winter’s close conjuring. Hum us into the bellies of our love. Heirlooms live in ancient ovens leavened with our tailings, leavings telling of our ordinary meals, the most sacred shared by us, alone. Pulses from one to the one that sprang from her very soil (earth murmurs), the maker passes on the notes of a melody for the making. Six simple gifts, the land's material, ascend in scales, soft sound offerings of humble place; ordinals older than words; sounds fat and round and full of life. "Fully formed and transformed by the mouth’s own making, the soil's song sings itself in tongues' silence," mumbles humus, a tune down in its roots. Oysters We went into the streets and squared our shoulders against the coming night. The clouds hung low in our minds, eating us-- eating our thoughts. The rats were everywhere, walking over our feet and chewing our fingernails for us. We twisted our hearts into animal shapes and gave them to the rats. They did not want them. They wanted the bones of our world to gnaw on. They wanted to be the humming birds that ate the fairies of our hearts. They wanted to filet the blue fish of our minds. They wanted to burrow through our marrow and delve into our guts, coming up with fresh oysters.