Unpaved Road

aorta through acres, hosting
pawprints from lynx to vole,
and gurgling with clues
of spent storms,

yellow machines
soon will slap tar over your face,
demand you sacrifice
your empathy for weather.

people have forgotten
that pebbles have messages
in their many chins,
that serenity is older and more able
than steamrollers.

they have forgotten
the shy quail, which walk
among personalities
of dip and rut,

and they have forgotten all the faces
of leaf and thistledown,
too sensitive to be nurtured
by tar.