Life now is too big for humans to live.
We are not cut out for the enormity
At this velocity
or the next big thing
gunning to mow us down.
Gnats in the gale are we to
the great, great disasters,
or like skaters tripping
on the blades of a too-sharp world.
We may have been best when we dwelt in caves
Or on the open plains.
We watched the coming on of seasons,
the departure of seasons;
counted slow plopping rains,
driving ones, rains broken open by sunshine.
Were we better just watching the way
shadow moves across a beach
or the tide flutters in and away?
Time was we wondered much but knew little.
Beneath the sky, I have heard, we felt small
so, pointing upward, connected stars like dots
to make the simple archer, dog, and bear.
When we walked at dusk we feared the lion and the fog.
At hungry time, we felt the thrill
of glimpsing berries unexpected
or a sudden school of fish among the shoals.
I have long suspected that we were better then.
— RRC 2017