Heaven and Earth, Horatio

As if
education
over your meager years
and scant experience gave you
clear sight.

As if
your narrow ken,
close measured and approved,
is world enough for you and thus
complete.

As if
the proud, though blind
in their complacency,
by virtue of their rank alone
bear praise.

As if
the humble have
no reason to rejoice—
no kin, no hard-won harvest, and
no dreams.

As if
mountains never
lurch into the sky, nor
vent the fire within, nor rise from
the sea.

As if
the greening hills
do not stretch and settle
smoothly to attain their soft round
repose.

As if
the creeping vine
does not daily ache for
southern light on the cliff across
the stream.

As if
the flying fish
never throw themselves
above the sea to swim sunlit in
the air.

As if
gannets never
fly beneath the foaming
waves with darting sardine shoals and
dolphins.

As if
the zebra mare
forgot her blithe gallops
on the plain or that lions took
her foal.

As if
the howler in
his dotage can't recall
leaping lithely through emerald
treetops.

As if
lemmings stampede
through arctic wilderness
solely for your amusement and
pity.

As if
ten billion squid
in their mating frenzy
care if their misty rite's all right
with you.

As if
your honored chair
is a throne unto all,
and all must orient themselves
to you.

As if,
Horatio,
the world and all therein
wonder: "How fares Horatio
today?"