On crane wings, nature is a farce
each thrush, each beat, each dawn
dances not natural, not unnatural
these generalities, didactic soul conceits
pretend to carry water
when it's the earth's great mass
and the contours rivers carve
who astonish watchful eyes
Each persona, neither mothered
nor fathered, tremors and roars
at the behest of necessity and chance
and this concatenation before
another death
Don't call it nature
even if that is in your nature
nature is a human creation
and humans are a creation creation
leveled best by circumstance
Roman Ryan 