If it seems
like your mind
must start racing
insanely fast
just to imagine
some peace,
I promise—
it's only trying
to keep pace
with your body
(which already feels the
very same idea
as a
resignation).
What,
did you think? those crickets—
which you can't see,
but suppose
must exist—
from the way
they keep
grinding their legs to pieces
in the grass over there—
are doing it
because they
feel like it?
You think
those trees
menacing the perimeter
of this field
are tall?
Nonsense. Trees
aren't tall. Trees—
are deep.