Golconde

What a time
to be alive,
but are we?
Sometimes I see
only empty vessels,
ordinary shadows
led by this fear
of letting neurons
run free.

Nature cries
in grand dawns 
and sunsets:
“Stay with me.”

But no,
we turn away
in the name
of our strange love
for cages,
for the yoke,
while the oxen
watch us
with condescendence.