Too Much to Hunt

How did it ever
Get to be so much?
It always was

As much nothing much,
The uncountable
Unaccountable,

But you kept focused
On your small circle,
A good animal,

Despite words in mind.
Stories shut it out,
The massive counting,

The sheer statistics.
Is that what they’re for?
Not to remember,

But your soft blinders.
Hawks that hood yourselves,
You perch, calm, alert,

So long as story
Cloaks your deep vision
Of what you could hunt,

If you were still wild.
That’s not quite it, no.
You weren’t used to sight.

You never were wild
Like so much is wild.
You’ve become something

Else, a lensed being
That really should hide
From how much you know

Of the fallaway
World, the infinite
In flight in your sight.