On a Day, In the World

We had a grief we didn't understand while standing at the edge of some low scrub hills as if humans were extra or already gone;— what had been in us before? a life that asks for mostly wanting freedom to get things done in order to feel less helpless about the end of things alone—; when i think of time on earth, i feel the angle of gray minutes entering the medium days yet not "built-up":: our work together: groups, the willing burden of an old belief, & beyond them love, as of a great life going like fast creatures peeling back marked seeds, gold-brown integuments the color time will be when we are gone—