It is, isn’t it? The perennial answer all
the stones and grasses seem to know.
It is only us with our swatters and the flies
who seem to wonder, scrambling for dear life,
endless in a game at no high cost.
The sun blazes and hides.
The cows eat and die and are happy.
God walks with us among them but we don’t ask
him much. Someone’s neighbor and someone else’s sister died