Eyes and Hands Not Trying to Understand Depths
The crows look down at Asian yellow hands
At work with seedlings in the mud. The rice
Is planted by the stooping peasant bands,
Both birds and farmers with their eyeballs nice
In looking, brown and black, at what they need
To do. Since death is always each one’s fate,
They choose to think of other things, the seed
That some are raising, not the deadly state
Avoided in the peering and the plants.
From limbs above the eyes gaze at the green,
While down below the fingers set out chants
In rows against the crop men thwart, obscene.
..The doom is like the seedlings, deeply mired,
….Mysterious. No meaning is required.