I am one of them,
an individual forming a crowd and I
crave to be away from them, to hear a stream
trickle across the field, to smell fresh manure
and see mountains in the distance.
there are no unoccupied million dollar houses.
there are no cars,
only some calves suckling at their mother's udder
and horses running wild, their manes lifting
with the wind,
the same wind blowing through my hair
the same wind pushing me back
only the sound of bike tire rolling on
pavement am I responsible
the horses do not even lift
their heads from the grass.