Broken case, & we ask for a fix.
Set life, & we want this
framework society whole,
for we stay. I imagine the world
as a walk through a snow-covered dale.
(Alone, yet we are acutely surrounded.)
Taking animals, breath, & fodder
we imprint & claim. Where factions
of cogs, similarly, work thru the day,
toiling in a city’s heart for pay, and
edged on the fray. Life as an object,
an eye—seeing, as those
who place the charts remain.
We follow, set the calendar’s pace;
boxes crossed out, and the way we
plan our inevitable forays,
this, as the others, all the same.
Our mapping life, all right, the sight…