Opposable thumbs

He walks alone through the hush of morning, dew balancing like prayers on blades of grass. above him, a red kite wheels as geometry drawn and for a moment,he forgets what we’ve done. the earth is still kind,still spills blossom from trees we’ve maimed all that is good with our distain let rivers write sermons through concrete and spillage. yet even now,she forgives us, the mother can be kind. As he stands beneath a birch that grows despite the plastic coiled at its roots his hand touches the bark there’s warmth. Its life refusing to retreat from it greatest enemy homoerectus the weight and menace of opposable thumbs.