Reflections On The Repair Of An Engine (Poem)

this early morning.

air should smell of rain, wet leaves, mud.

train fuel reek fugs the fields.

birdsong and squirrel chatter should accompany our walk.

metal engines clangor away any animal noise.

nature inevitably prevails,

however industry (and we) might choose.

look up, the sky is ever there;

walk, the earth always beneath;

every manufactured thing; fundamentally part of the world.

in the pause between piston beats,

I hear the cry of three Canadian geese flying their regular overhead route.