Human Hubris Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

We block you out with concrete and steel,
And then convince ourselves you were never real.
We blot out the stars with artificial light
And then tell ourselves they were never bright.

We forget the beauty of mist on the hills
Dewdrops on clover, new leaves on winter trees,
And then tell ourselves that our architecture,
Our art, our vision is the pinnacle of wisdom.

But I will retreat from Manhattan.
I will leave Brooklyn behind,
Gentrified, Starbucked, redesigned,
Occupied by the self-ordained.

I will go in search of Walden's Pond.
I will walk in Robert's woods.
I will haunt Emily's meadows.
I will commune with Edgar's crow.

Maybe if I can remember to see the bees,
Hear the birds, smell the new-cut grass,
I can allow myself to fall into the kind of reverie
That makes me aware of your presence.

Maybe in this state I can shed
My worries, my doubts, my insistences
And for a time, however fleeting,
I can be at peace with all as it is.