I Concede Nature Hasn't Left Me Yet

All of it
was before the plastic Jesus, the dazzling
politics of the free American, the body
of the Nile and Queen, before
the naked beauty of the wheel,
when I could be considered
a fertile river, have a name
somewhere
in petroglyphs, and a jungle of fur
from my legs,
which isn't easy
for modern white folk to swallow.

All of it
was before the close-linked fence
and garden gnomes
in their wounded red hats-
            though impressive
            are dread-full of neighborhood rage.
And perhaps I should
make a comment
about how precisely the right degree
of maturity matters,
and how educated your cities should be.

All of it,
the scream of birds, the cry of cave babies
and the young whisper of their mothers,
through which a hundred thousand years
burst,
all of it
is still here along my river.
Somewhere, I've carved in stone
my own name.