The only sense in which it is not absurd to project intentions onto the nonhuman universe
Is the sense that we are all, apparently, products of the way this world has been happening
And that therefore, given our own obsession with intentions,
The capacity for intentions must have been latent in the cosmos since whenever
And may yet be expressed in other ways than through us.
My thoughts ran in this direction as my bank account ran out,
As my days in the corner most home dwindled from two to one,
As the sun shone, a squirrel defended a tree, a sweat bee landed on my thumb,
I wondered what the world meant to do with me,
Little puffy clouds graced Valhalla, and the lake reflected.
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