Innately odd or early turned, I keep
perceiving differently what’s under rocks.
I note when others don’t – they tend to sleep
more time than I; they tremble less from shocks,
as if they’re comatose. The scholars list
the relics under generalities,
but I’m inclined to think of those they missed,
who favor purpose over policies.

My people never lived as Cather wrote.
We leave the anthropologists no clues.
We each were old at five without a vote.
The bell curve won’t express our sundry views.
So I’m compelled to transcribe what I see
in syllables of urgent poetry.