Who Are These Tracks?


Single file on deer trails
bucks on their way to work
ancestors of pride and sorrow.

See how we learn from each other
flocks of wingless chatterers
across the schoolyard meadow.

Any rhythm without cause
gives rise to spring celebration
drums behind piccolos and cellos.

Inspired by such non-entities
as words and opportunities
not slime but marrow.

At the watering hole antelope
indistinguishable except to themselves
predators watch us swallowing.

A nature of butter and coffee
of sweets and intoxicants
asleep with candles and pillows.

Risen above sun’s horizon
no more are we a species
mouths willing but hollow.

Around the planet choking
in all dimensions hoping
so similarly silly.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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