Is it somehow so complicated?
Have I been fed stories
Which rebel against the raw, immediate warmth
Of my breathing body,
And tactile skin?
Are we so divorced from simplicity
By dreams of grandeur?
Man, standing mighty,
Lord over all, and conqueror,
Giving birth to new, intelligent life.
Is this all some tragic failure of humility?
We chase the golden goose,
Feeling what is here in our hands
To be worthless, ordinary,
Perhaps even boring.
Am I seduced just because others are?
The rip tide of a civilization way out to sea.
It never ceases somehow
To feel a little crazy
To swim the other way —
Back to the shore.