Speaking for Others

Christ and Satan blare like cicadas
From the same acacia tree.
We, who cannot see them,
See how the shape of their bough
Matches a flowering cloud
And think that they speak for the sky.

But it is only a private nest.
Individuals are dispossessed, in the end,
Of association, become
A thumb of meaninglessness
That hitched a ride from the sun, wind and water
But remain—like their free hearts—apart.