You make me watch you,
turning your metallic
cartwheels in the sky,
your monstrous arms
spin through the air,
chopping up the mountain view
in whirling machinery.

They say we need you.
And I want to want you,
as you capture
the power of the wind
in your hands.

Yet I long for the earth
to be earth,
these mountains to
remain mountains,
and the birds who
lose their lives
in your man-made wings,
to fly again.

(Originally appeared in Third Wednesday)