First time I've imagined doing an observance - serving some actual thing, a ritual, now,
of observing grain, growing, being grown, Shavuot.
Feast of Weeks, working weeks, timed
by observations based on how the earth
leans in relation to fixed stars, observe,
- wikipedia explains, I cogitate.
as the moon has several cyclical patterns,
so does the angle we observe from, as we age…
our minds accumulate, certain senses as to ports
in brainstorms, safe zones, my secret cove,
at the bottom of the ocean that once,
so very long ago, was here,
where we live and breathe and shape our future.

When we are few,
a few of us will know how we knew.
A selection selected or sifted in the shaking out,

individual grains of us, me and you and they.

There are 8 billion people on earth, about
that
the AI memory bank agrees,
instantly about
that tic in time, you knew,
each of them
is destined to die,
in the next 150 years,
sooner or later, point A to B, and gone.
- no points on that line, you know, do and die.
- done
Or, we may meander, and leave little pieces
of all we enjoyed, in truth, as free,
index points to the way where good is
good for whatever our hands find to do,

while our minds unwind the preferred
referencing threads which set the plaid.