March: Year-day 62

    
                                        
                                                
March: Year-day 62

Say the worlds we face are as black and hard
as anthracite, as promotive of fear
and chaos as a soon-to-explode star,
that nature and artifact and those weird
transcendors, spirit and mind, cannot be made
to fully demystify themselves, we,
as minute as we are, ought we not weigh
our actions still, determine what is meed?

Brontosauruses trapped in tar: dead ends,
of whatever kind--even if, we, too,
should fail to be diverse enough to hold
our own, or being diverse, still lose friends,
enemies, selves/ let us more than chop through
the laminations of wind, wet, and cold.

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