all living things have taken a break

all living things have taken a break,
even cars and cycles do not pass.
ah, there they are; two, four, seven...
even wind raises a tired puff off wild grass,
one bird hurries off fast
as a turquoise-backed beetle flays its wings;
an annihilator of manifest destiny sings. 
not a native soul in indigenous garb is left, 
only hermit crab-like men in European shells,
acting freely after subjugation,
on weekend vacations
that unions gave them,
through  red-stained bungalow sheets
written in grief...
does anyone care?
that no more birds are flying there? 
only a foreign renegade can tell;
a fighter against death, a true rebel.
alone and cultish,
clinging to the few that knew him well,
into the mire with forced grin,
aware that only he himself can win
what no one would care to know;
that living things have gone away,
packing and unpacking junk so slow,
the world renounced,
down to the lonely bone. 

7-31-16 

keep your nature

from homeward i was coaxed upstream,

by a gentle breeze over the Han ravine, 

where swallows dart in tandem,

and swarms of gnats o'er weed patch hover,

a graceful egret swoops, 

with insight of its nest,

nature does the rest.

like the ant 

that marches through the thoroughfare,

unbeknownst the cul-de-sac,

detoured but not deterred, 

knows the way around,
and knows its way back;

its second nature.

7-17-16