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What do you see
when you look at my home
in the mountains, or in the fields?

Do you see the dirt roads
winding into the forest
pockmarked, sometimes
dusty, muddy, inundated
and think
my my, this could change
for the better?

Do you look upon my house
on its stilts atop red clay,
wood slats shorn by hand, imperfect,
windows open and without glass
and think
well now, this could be improved?

What about my farm
small, blazing green, sharing space
with fruit trees and crayfish and
all manner of abundance
for me
and my family
and my neighbors?
Do you wonder
what potential it may have
for growth?

Or do you see my world for what it is-
something enough,
quiet and unperturbed
by the forces of wanting?

Do you begin to feel
the asymmetry of your ideals
against mine?
Clouding what should be obvious
to any honest appraisal of my life
which is this:

Here I live with my people
within the whirling current
of change
choosing to see myself
and not you
because who are you
and what power do you wield
against the sterling beauty
of enough?