At ground level,
the air foul and
mustard yellow.

Oil pumps shaped like reptilian skulls, bow to holes drilled
deep into bulldozed ground pumping petroleum laid down
millennia before small mammals with big ideas, scurried in
the shadow of giant saurian feet.

Paralleling fields, with "fox spirits at the crossroads,"
tailpipes of our speeding machine fire greasy gases;
while a possible incarnation of a human being darts
between
         other-
than-human
                    feet.