Give Me the Outdoors

Computers are not natural for me I did not grow up knowing how to swipe Scrolling up and down meant parchment paper Bringing thoughts of ancient Rome to my head Database, laptop, I-phone, were unknown words Not developed yet, unheard of, not fathomed I speak the language of trees, the sun, cloud talk. Doing my best to imitate the trills and squawks of birds I know my brain cannot duplicate beak talk And yet I try, feeling a kindship to everything outdoors Lying sometimes on a mound of dirt, feeling loved There is a reverence here I cannot feel at the end of a swipe