Song for H. Korth - Joel P West

I cannot hear the old earth breathe

Through the loose leaves

I can only hear machines

Sustain the city

And the motion of my body’s aligned with the way they are designed

Stiff and instructed

The rain is blistering on the glasses

And slowly pushing

Towards cherry blossoms clinging where

The wipers cannot reach them

I’m safe inside the walls of my skin, they won’t let the waater in

Every time the wearth’s reimbursed I remember who I am

Fragile and fortunate

I cannot remember when

I started to believe in

Imaginary ties between

Comfort and contentment

A dog will eat all it’s fed

And hunt a stick time and time again

Is the coyote less content

On a cold night, sleeping with no bed

Did our insticts lose mystery

When we assigned them vocabulary

It’s tragic

We are small things, what are we if we’re not that?