I live well
without seed,
without oxen,
without yoke or plow,
without the threshing floor,
without fire burning through night,
without a watering hole,
without the cock’s crow waking the sun,
without a shepherd,
without sheep,
without wind through the rough board roof,
without the moon floating above the horizon.
How is this possible,
skills,
tools,
calluses,
forgotten?
What about shoes?
What about the hunter’s spear,
arrowheads chipped from flint?
Who will gut the doe?
Who will lift a blaze out of wet wood?
Who will love me
without smoke trapped in my skin?
None of this concerns me.
Why?
Machines.
Technicians
A long way off.
2015