An empty hollow man looks out on love.
He sees its actions, knows them to be full,
and 3 dimensional, as hand in glove,
but feels to be a glove only, no hand.
Emotions which connect him to his world
in ways that are not just thought, nor just will
but some amalgam of matter & mind
that seem to float around, but matter still.
Are like a farmer’s animals that add
a lot to ev’ry farm around the place.
They’re trained in certain ways, by Mum & Dad
(who own the farm), but still they leave a trace
of colour, texture, in both sight and sound
they even sometimes bring to things a “face”,
the dog greets visitors, when they are found,
and helps with sheep & cattle in the chase,
The cow gives milk, but also moos, bellows,
the chickens - eggs, but also clucking, poos.
With all their noises, habits, these fellows
communicate this farm is where they’re used -
not “used” in some truncated way that won’t..
won’t give them space to be themselves, demeans.
They contribute to all farm life, and don’t
be so curtailed that they are just machines.
They give the flavour of the farm to one.
I wonder if I might need so to do,
to let some babies, animals do some
some more around this place, near me and you.
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