de|fault :: the depths

my seat sits on a bus bussing across the road paved on the ground
where do I sit? I ask
what do you mean? they ask
scars across the landscape make good highways
we drive through the wound
which is the default? I ask, pointing to the scar
the road...one says
no, ground...says another
jigsaw cuts across the land are pieces in a puzzle
scrambling
division, split, where's the soul's fealty?
I look out and expect to find Terra
but They are not in there
the trees, they grow and fall and crash
highways flow between them
which is the default? I ask, pointing to the flora city and chitinous drones
Terra smiles in return
the soil...it makes its case
the forest...it sways in majesty
jigsaw cuts across the land are pieces in a puzzle
scrambling itself
echos, construction, where's the soul's fault?
Terra embraces my heart
do not hate yourself, They say
do the ants hate their highways?
do the termites hate their skyscrapers?
do the trees hate their cities?
They point to the road, the scar, the puzzle piece
the fault lines are always there,
default
it is good to find a fit