The lion does not consider
swinging in the trees.
Nor do monkeys long to sleep
in the tall goldening grass.
We the so-called chosen are left
horizons, vistas and consciousness
a forward wind forbidding us
our trees and tall grass.
We notion
to fill our needy notioning
with 'most any notion at all.
Our problem
not in what we believe
nor in whom we believe
but simply that we must
believe at all.
Perhaps in secret the owl
will wade into the reeds.
Perhaps the heron hunts
a storm clouded night sky.