We in this gallimaufry of green
knowing we cannot escape
the many headed hydra's fumed churning of the befuddled lanes,
walk,
watch,
wait,
for thoserootedinourpast
whooncewerehere
to throw up a sign -
striking a flash of Roman coin,
or transformative shard of flint
from the river valley's unsettled greensand beds.
You with the iPhone fixed on a mesmeric text
who do not yet know
how this hotel will go
the sapling Oak you don't see
by the window will grow,
that what we think as still
is not so -
oh yes, in case you ask,
I was once the same
until somebody in the past
called up,
said
You with your head stuck
in a book
learning how to read the text
who do not know
how the green fields you don't see outside the window
will go
your friends
will grow a
way from you,
that what we believe to be still
is not so -
oh yes,
I was once the same
until someone from the past
called up
said
You ...
