Suppertime in the
city, lozenges float lazily.
People gawk and stare at clouds in the air.
Each passing within their grasp,
feeling apart from stance.
It's you starchild, you've been a cloud
and a rock and maybe a hawk
that fed some barley
that fed some brewer
from whom you bought a bottle with a second dollar.
Life and death are but a soapstone
in the maker's hands.
They can end up a phone to call to your soul,
can fubu you seven-fold.
So stop that sewage
stop the pollution
plant a spruce tree
and get with the solution.
Spend some time thinking ecologically.
And remember, we have only
one earth to live.