The Wind of Spring Moons

While you dream of lives
With more love, less flesh,
More time and space, less
Noise, folks in your face,
Crowds, jets in the air,

Trucks on the road, screams,
The ants stay ants, swarms
Of kinds of ants, all
At it. The spring goes
On through the thinned woods.

What is it you want?
Each one of you is
Locked up as some flesh,
A one, none and whole,
The core of a corpse.

You move through the world.
There are more of you
Than you like, too few
Of you that like you,
All like you, none like.

All your nights glow bright,
With a moon or not.
You’re blood, pulse, and thoughts,
But we are those thoughts.
It’s spring. Ants come out.