Licked Stamps

Boots on campground,
mud squealing
slug healing in wintry rain,
the smell of damped camp-fires,
the crackle of tree snaps
the bric-a-brac of deadened wood,
wriggly wormlines on the stump,
dumptruck noises up the valley,
silt-filled, land-pill of DDT
feed the ground of our white powders,
alchemical skull-crosses
peopling the seas,
sapling ocean.