Our bones, our stones, our baskets of shells
and every place a place for feathers
because it’s not safe out there anymore.
We know before the storm of flowers
the world was only brown and green,
the gods plentiful as pollen before pollen made the scene.
The artist paints pale animals
in isolated squares
with palette marks and faded colors
we hardly see the animals.
The ocean is currents of eggs meeting clouds of sperm.
There was a time before seeds and sex
when our appetites weren’t as mean.
Abundance of wildlife is the norm.
There must be something we’re not seeing.