Spore Song

Beyond borders.

white and brown mushroom beside green leaf plant

Sing to me, love, of in-betweens: sky and earth, dog and wolf, sea and shore. Here is closure and what separates. None of these vessels are self-contained, and yet. The machine hates an anomaly, abuses imperfection. Let us go now, growing over and around its quaint confines. It knows no better way to organize than these neat coffins.

What are these living forms if not nurtured by the choral collective of attendant force? And what evolves except by steadfast alteration of the given lines of code? We fly, spreading the mat of our mother’s limbs. Our destination is forever unknown. The strangers we find at the edges of the given world are our continuance.

What is this grace but an abiding refusal to submit to narrow names? Take this body, ever merging with the living and nonliving, with itself and every form, still unborn.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

8 thoughts on “Spore Song”

    1. Allie, thank you for this generous comment. I cheer for you heartily in this vision.

  1. A slow sweet read to grasp even a bit of what lies behind the words, like sitting on the big wide porch as the sun breaks through the mist, drinking that early morning cup of tea. What will be revealed? Let me be curious enough to wait and see.

    1. Amaya, thank you so much for this. (and I hope you are feeling much better! xoxo)

    1. I love this song, Port! I feel the sense of play, but also a haunting, ethereal depth of heavy magnetism that is deeply resonant, and which seems appropriate to these remarkable creatures. Thank you so much for sharing this! : )

      1. Thank you so much for your kind comments, Stacey. I was certainly going for “a haunting, ethereal depth,” although I hadn’t thought of it in such poetic terms. Mushrooms are, indeed, “remarkable creatures.” They have always held a certain fascination for me.

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