on an island almost in its entirety a stratovolcano
by Amy Schmitz

           and already inhabited

           and green

           and ideally located,

           not owned by anything,

           not even another country where homes are full

                      of found objects people brush at night forgetting

           sulfur is everywhere,

                                 it’s easy to summit

                                 the ocean surface


                                 blessed and finegrained as basalt,

                                 dressed in dust and dioxide

                                 and rise more regal and sovereign

                                            than you ever imagined

                                 and find firefinch


                                 by rain shadow

                                 the color of persimmons

                                 sharing a simple tamarind tree

                                            and then to become a simple tamarind tree,

                                            to pull nests up from the earth

                                            and root them where they won’t be touched,

                      to jut and bud

                      with a height that feels final

                      and a body made from wild


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