at the edge of civilization
chaos behind him
organization in front of him
sometimes he turns his back
on the busy streets and markets
to revel in the wildness
dance to the beat of drums
worship the stars
without any taint of science
sometimes he steps into order
cautiously, skeptically
seeking the scent, taste, feel
of the strange regularity
he sees and hears
but he must stay near the edge
if he gets sucked in too far
he loses that rawness
that primacy of the earth
that taste of clear water
unpurified, without pollution
to need purification
the messages the wind carries
heat and light from a fire
just barely tamed and controlled
no, the poem must resolutely stay
in the border between science and dream
he has work to do for each
but must do both together
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