creekrnningnorth (3:35:43 AM): yes, I do sometimes talk to the air. Why do you ask?
creekrnningnorth (3:36:32 AM): there is air everywhere: one is thus never alone.
creekrnningnorth (3:37:00 AM): thin air in the fringes of space,
creekrnningnorth (3:37:20 AM): thick air clinging to particles of soil three feet down
creekrnningnorth (3:37:50 AM): there are bacteria that grow deep within solid rock,
creekrnningnorth (3:38:10 AM): miles down and they eat the rock
creekrnningnorth (3:38:28 AM): life infiltrates into impossible places.
creekrnningnorth (3:39:11 AM): I have peeled away thin sections of rock in the desert
creekrnningnorth (3:39:27 AM): not rained on in a year, months of dead sun and heat
creekrnningnorth (3:39:45 AM): and found green beneath, eating what little light
creekrnningnorth (3:39:59 AM): can filter through the rock.
creekrnningnorth (3:40:27 AM): The towhee came in again after we talked,
creekrnningnorth (3:40:44 AM): made a circuit of the dining room table
creekrnningnorth (3:41:11 AM): into the kitchen and it battered the window once more, the tenth time in three days
creekrnningnorth (3:41:46 AM): it is not learning that the window is solid, but
creekrnningnorth (3:41:58 AM): it is learning that I will let it out.



Sounds like a biology teacher talking to his/her class.
Maybe you can leave the kitchen window open so the house becomes a flow-through system. :-)
I was fascinated a few years ago to hear that the millimetre-thick crust on undisturbed sand is a teeming community of fungus and bacteria, some of them photosynthesizing.
This would be a compelling poem even without the chat format, which I enjoyed.
A poem or found poetry?
Whether found or intended as such, it’s a poem. Speaking as the editor of a literary magazine that publishes mostly poetry, I’d accept such a thing in a heartbeat.
For sure.
Wow. Have I known some people like that towhee.