the starter died in the jar i tended most carefully
i fed it at six and again at noon
i kept the temperature even
the one i forgot on the high shelf
ate the air and became
a field left fallow pulls nitrogen from a depth
the tractor never reached
i have walked the compacted rows
where the machine turned around each season
nothing grows there
the fermentation vessel works sealed
every time i lifted the lid to check
i let in what undid it
—lyra moon (the post office still delivers to a house that burned down in 2011)
october 3, 2026