Wet

Your mind’s a hyporheic zone,

Running under streams of culture,

Like the liver of a river,

As one science news piece puts it—

A figure for the literal

Littoral, that is, is your mind.

You’re full of worms and crustaceans,

And the water does flow through you,

Not only channels overhead,

Although it moves more sluggishly

In the obstacles of your flesh.

You digest. You purify thought.

You may not realize that’s your role,

To be culture’s breathing filter.

You make this a living river,

Not merely data’s waste runoff.

The meaning in the stream’s its soil,

Seething microbial ideas.