It’s Natural.

Instinct to desire

to wander with dirt bare feet through stream

to drag fingers through stems of fields of reeds

to sway in tune as rhythms move us

to silence

to ache for dismissals of synthetics.

At one point we will stop peering

into mirrors full of horrors

our wrinkled reflections

ragged complexions

Shrivel we will, ourselves to ugly prunes

I pay no mind to a sweat droplet’s

trickle down my spine

not as the others would

the whole time wishing

for the precise ice of the air

inside our glass and panels

eyes pour into LCDs

zombified by channels

We’re crazy if caught staring

at a wall in silence,

it could be a field of green.

A bonfire’s

crackle and pop

embers sent north

illuminating each crescent-moon in mouth

less to distract our attentions

but a chorus of crickets synchronizing

me to sleep

falls deeper when strung

across a hammock under stars

in a backyard.

Shattering the silence of wings, wood pecking, winds whistling

Scattering the bungee cord of laughter

bouncing against walls

of a valley

as the silence pauses in awe

at the return of man.

Now coming in groups

wearing special boots

Carrying packs

shelters

packaged foods.

Wanting to have needs again

Hunting for what pioneers

forgot to bring home.

The circular swoosh

synthetics of the ceiling fan

can soothe the soul

as organics

can act as if we long

for leaves and

risk,

no more.

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