Pigeons drawn to the puddle drinking
Mostly mud
Mostly rain and stasis
Soaking the pale grass
Through which the sun becomes
A carousel of light
So blinding
As to reduce the world to its
Formless essence
Plastic remains
The sole reminder of these feet
With which we draw
Avenues in maps
And carry our thoughts
From east to west
North to south
Whatever direction our nose
Happens to be pointed to
In a particular morning
We have been, for centuries,
Displacing our disembodied selves
Towards a hunger
We can no longer define
Rumbling deep
Where our bellies used to be
Forcing our fingers into our cheeks
Sighing, shrieking
Within conditioned walls
In the conditioned air
I am here now
And I feel it still
It’s like nothing
You can attach a name to
The trees seem not much to mind
They shield me all the same
Patience and silence are the only currency
They have ever known
And their desire to move is addressed
By digging deeper into where they stand
It is we who have broken the bond