Fifteen thousand years ago
a people rose in China’s dawn,
leaving the land of their fathers and mothers
just south of the Yangtze,
to cross the northern straits,
migrating with dogs near-once wolves,
and bearing seed of rice,
both sacred bestowments of a
great spirit. They settled in places to be
known as Wisconsin,
Colorado, Arizona, Mexico, bound fast
to the primal domain on the
they lived hard
as creatures should
quickened by an ancient verve we do not
pulsate with today.
I want to know their God,
those who walked the arc of
time and space of earth,
stars and moon, sun and seasons,
ages and eons.
What was spoken into their
visions induced by the yodel of a loon, a
beam of light in morning water?
Since fire, the wheel, iron, papyrus we
have shackled our spirits to machines and art, and
scribed the account of staking down our Gulliver-god
into our irreproachable book of gleanings. We have
captured lightning on a kite-wire only to
blot out the Milky Way. We have
hurled our flaccid bodies across
the face of the planet at speeds that
cock the head, unsure of where we
have been. The land blurs by, pillaged of
legends of the early people of earth,
those with dogs once wolves and seed of rice,
bound fast to the primal domain.
O’ to dwell, not merely live, in utter step
with the arc of time and space of earth.