rocks

stones are pulled from the field
big ones, chocked together,
chinked with chipmunks,
to make way for fertile ground.
who would want to do this?

all that work felling trees,
carving stumps from the ground,
hoisting rocks, acres and acres
to grow corn or vegetables or wheat
when everything is ready?

in the woods and fields,
in the streams and air,
there is so much you need
to carry only very little
on your back.

but you have to move,
to sample the wind and know
tracks in the friable leaves.
watch a family of plants grow
year to year.

maybe it’s easier to settle,
plant seeds in the same place,
do what you can to guarantee
the harvest. haul rocks
from the soil and pile them.

train your oxen to drag a spade,
bend and sow and cover and weed,
watch the wind and nurture the loam in soil,
community harvest, everyone helping out,
preserving for the winter.

communities grow this way,
plenty of food, particularly when
machinery is fueled with oil
that does the work while sixteen people
sit around a table talking business.

still there are rocks in the ground
and many ways to walk the earth,
planting skyscrapers,
building stone walls,
climbing up a mountainside.