child science

our immediate intuition
says we’re not the pine tree
says we’re not the mountain
we’re not even patagonia
vibrating underneath herself
but it doesn’t end there, —
and neither are we
an only child,
so we go back to the edge
of the pine
to the gazing mountain
we beg the beautiful bastion
to forgive us our ignorance
and our collective myopathy
— is it in our burning existence
of sheer chance
and star dust joy
that we are only beginning
to see we are one with
and one in this world?
we’ve clung to our stubborn
illusions long enough


for Real Toads