Men

What the land will not tell us we must glean for ourselves
From the movement of grasses and the shrugging of trees.

Each hill wants our attention.
It is the curved earth we desire
When we clutch at women.

Follow a leaf: fragile in its intricacy of
Cell and vein, there is great architecture
Which drives the turning from life green
To weathered brown in such short
Seasons as to betray the cycle.

We want more than the cycle of leaves;
We want more than the cycle of loam
And the turning of worms can provide to men.