Before humans I’ve passed,
it’s light from an afternoon
the muscles and fat that have made
the day’s echo
asleep with my silence under trees
in a yard.
In the human way I’ve had eyes,
counted days without a parent,
tongues without a language
and architecture sheltering tribes.
From what point on the calendar
have they come,
they do not know,
but they have trailed home
to cells of containment and electricity.
These are provided . . . these are provided.
And the satellites we don’t count,
we do not see the great migration
and the accords of ownership.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin