No one has said.
Our frame of reference
So limited
We look at wings
On the windshield
Grooving to an Allman guitar
As some mechanical
Construction, something children
Could find a pattern for,
Instead of what it is,
What exists outside our world
In the cozy dirt
Where the impossible,
Because invisible,
Seems easy.
We suck all their sugar away
But they love
Like we would
So it's OK,
No one is here anyway,
The mirror is only a light
And we live like them
In the shadow
Jumping from reed to reed
Through unpredictable breeze
By way of foraging
As they, they
Watch from above
And below
On their idols
Because innocent.
They hover over.
That's how they fly,
Aware of all life
As we see nothing.
Their subtle hum is all
The subtle hums,
Transparent wings and the palms
Are one loving murmur.
They are the Gods because
The humans won't be.
They control the world, you know,
Those buzzing invisibles.
