Force of Nature

Blessed is he with the sun baring down

On his boiled back

The sweat clinging so tightly to his skin

So that he does not forget

His fleshy prison

Up, down

Down, Up

The scythe attacks the grassy beds

Where grasshoppers still sleep

In their woven homes

 

In the night

They cry to the moon

At the loss of stability

The humans delight in their songs