Monday, June 22, 2020

The Visitor



How strange it all looks from the moon,

life being mostly sky, mostly space,

when you slipped out of the past,

disrupting my days deep in the forest,

primitive and undefiled, content in my ways,

undone by satellite facial recognition,

you riding off with your young warrior

leaving me to conjure spells

with my feathers and bones,

attempting to live to scale

when the distances are planetary.