The Perfect Year Poem by Robert Ronnow

The perfect year,
two equal halves.
One with leaves
one without.
Forest thinning out.
Bring indoors
swing sets, pools, smiles, thoughts.

Having enough and not much else is a lot.
The transfer of funds is a loving gratitude for work well
      done.
Not self-sufficient unless self
is defined as family, community and nation.
The world.
Universe.
Thus,

I settle my haunches like a bear content, snug into
      coming winter.
House will be warm notwithstanding the Muslim-Judeo-
      Christian condition
not to mention the Hindu-Buddhist vortex.
Searching space
for an entity
to unite us as humanity.
Carbon-based, earthbound
meeting, understanding and absorbing
the clicking, algorithmic logic
of passionately computing species, insects, machines,
      bacteria.

A world moves only as fast as you think.
If it moves faster you're not thinking, you're it, dead,
      chemicals redistributed
in an ever more painless process.
What are my feelings exactly?
Systemic joy.
Lovely the logic
we have invented and applied
identifying, specifying, classifying.
It can keep you busy
counting, praying
while all the leaves are falling.