Slowly Dawning

Staring at a humming
Steel refrigerator,
Human-produced machine,

Like it might say something,
A familiar warning
Worms its way through the brain—

The world is not people.
It’s so self-evident,
Why’s it so hard to grasp

And keep always in mind?
The stars are not people,
Waiting to talk to you.

The rock wren on the stones
Outside winter’s window
Is a bird, not people,

Not bringing a message
To you from the bird tribe.
The floor is not people,

Although people built it
And the roof, and the walls.
They’re not there to explain

Themselves or to gossip
About the furnishings.
The trees are not people,

Leafless or evergreen.
The weather’s not people,
However influenced

By what people may do.
You know this, through and through.
Still, you sit and you wait,

Unintentionally
Expectantly for things
To say something to you.