were the woods a wilderness now civilness
a small fire burning to a person finding a way
would mean sustenance or violence either way
but the woods are couch with imported meadow grass
scattered elm and holly to remember by and by
tarmac baked clay bonded aggregate
constant dawn from light emitting semiconductor
blocks of rock from colliding lithosphere
piled into fine grained crystalline white
supremacy
i walk to the fire despite uncertainty
finding neither sustenance nor violence
but both
strange not camp fire burning since the other day
with our brother inside
living marble eyes to see
passionate speaking lips to kiss
tender ears amplifying thunder and passion
perfectly placed nose collecting molecules of atmosphere
skin sensuous tender touch
all burning violence vacuum of faith
how can i unaccept left smoldering embers of love
lighting way to look for persons missing
human wilderness civil society
see hear smell touch taste
i cannot
say foraging calling crows from ever woods perching all over and about
quarried white
supremacy