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See how they rough the skim on the waters,
How their faces are grim by their smile.
See them fresh in the morning, up on the sunrise dew,
In day, hot on flowers and tall grass,
At night, less than silhouettes, less than phantoms.
See how the turtles peek their heads out of the water,
The back of their necks leaning on their heads
As they watch the swarmed sky, they are wise and ready
When they will try to bounce on their heads.
See how the Taoists wrote of them,
Of sinister plotting and other deeds done in their whirring,
Calculations instead of feeling, planting things in the future.
There are no preferences, just for them mechanical advancements,
Their sanctum the deadness inside.
That was long ago; it is writ by their hand.