It seems to me that biologists don't know much
About life

I was walking through a green oasis
In a scientific suburb
In the early morning cool -
and saw the trees moving with life
As birds hopped about
And chirped, and squeaked, and barked, and bantered.

I was told that weeds grew short
To defend against scientific lawnmowers
And so observed the
"Plant that we don't like,"
scraggily body hugging the ground
As necks came up to my knees
To tilt buttercup heads toward the sun.

I knew why, scientifically, they did this
But thought it better just to enjoy the weed
As a flower

Science is good,
Insofar as it preserves life,
And bad insofar as it
Kills the living of life

For as I saw the farm where
Radish shoots pushed their way to life
And smelt good, dirty living in the air
I thought of the defenses scientists had given
Against the dehumanization
Their lack of art produces

For their's is a way of anti-life
That needs no, and is above
Vain superstitions
of God and purpose.

My dog paused in the
Natural, brown field grass -
And I thought
They keep their eyes so low
To see the miracle cell
They miss what the cell makes

My dog and I walked home
Better biologists
For having seen art in nature
Rather than nature in science