The starlings have postponed their migration. The winter wasn’t cold enough.
They stopped to listen in the stillpoint,
Held in air currents.
Do you hear the gulls cawing? Alerted to some scraps. Shall we invite others, give them water?
A “Danish” giraffe wants his life, haunts those children made to watch, crying.
The chicken and the egg have arrived.
The effect of triggers, of extrapolating desires, exploiting our ancient brains, fault lines with clicks and hits, mining these infernal devices for dopamine, leaves us behind the perpetual veil, the universe appears online.
Human life degrading all life. Humanity and folly are entangled. On some obscure edges, wisdom holders eat humble pies, and famous yogis are diluting things for cash.
Now, there is an anti-verse, some scientists say.
The future is uprooted, modified by scissor cuts,  radical ‘imperfections’ of self. Culling of who and what, so that who and what survives?
If the unlistening trait is snipped, poetry with music, birds humming could be heard.

Listening, let nature free from stacks and packages, a million bunches of sage, chicken legs, lambs ribs and self help gurus. Many tins and ashphalt rivers hide her. Much of it washes up on the shores of Bali.
Go worship in a street temple, barely fenced off from the dung of wandering cows, if you bring it in, I’ll wash your feet.
A temple kept by one who maintains sanctuary from things,
who left shopping bags to blow around unfull.
I need to feed my animals and the children taking shelter in my yard, the tribe need a grower, need the land.
Holding seed in my palm, I will make the earth, gather worms to turn it. Worms churn, silent.

In this catastrophe, seek great stillness, seep into the empty moment, join other species.