Guest Poet

If the pines sing their winds
Then their roots aren’t yet scorched.

If the falcon wings back north in March
Then Greenland must not have melted yet.

If the sun roves back to its zenith
Then today, humanity might survive.

If today is called Tuesday
Then the grass must be growing.

These are mantras to logicians
Who speak in Xs and Ys and ifs and thens,

Who miss the beats of the wind and
Who misinterpret the sun,

And simplify the prairie fowl,
And shepherd their willing pupils’ eyes

To their own pointing fingers,
Diverting them from the stars outside.