The Asag Restored to the Mountains, After a Passing Storm

"We don't know anything! Awareness! Aaaaagggh!" -Sarah's summary of these poems

The mountains that you have handed
Over shall not be restored. Oh,
But they shall. Their triumph's assured.
The mountains belong to themselves

When their stones are no longer mined,
Their armies of plants victorious,
The me of civilization
Vanquished, just a matter of time,

As if time gave birth to litters
Of matters, and this was but one
Of them, which in a sense holds true.
Now what? An aetiology:

The study of causes equals
The myth of origins, equals
Every story, every me we
Made about experience, in

English, a self referring to
Itself, in Sumerian a
Chunk of culture, one of our gifts,
Civilization, or curses,

The same thing. The lights of cities
No longer gleam in the distance.
"We live in a world where humans
Are in the minority," said

Jay Varma in New York City
When its human population
Had never been higher, a place
For the rats humans made easy,

For viruses rats made easy,
For all the things content to live
Among the classifications
Of stones by human languages,

Attributed to divine lords
Of thunder who broke the mountains
And brought the rebellion of plants
To newly cultivated knees.