It is hard to know
When to shut down,
When to turn away
From this machine.
One becomes
All consumed,
All stuck on the tool.
But then,
At long last,
A little inkling
Draws one on away,
Like warming of a fire
To take to rest
To take to work
To take the mind
To physical
And find what has been lost
Out on the ground
Nature’s finest mess
A bivy full of uncharted.