Out in the Pacific doldrums, scientists

found a garbage dump the size of Texas 

floating with caustic heaviness, the way

flocks of poisoned birds soar before crashing

down onto houses, roads, the shining fields.

And astronomers will soon discover 

a maelstrom of dense black stars, progeny

of melancholy, fear, and apathy   

all swirling at a terrible tempo

like starving cats in an abandoned house. 

Today I walk down to the cold river

at first light with bags to collect clutter.

Among white snails and ducks I pluck plastics

Styrofoam, a doll’s arm. A cricket chirps

—sacred chant—my heart trembles, the haze lifts.

 — Dennis Trujillo