We named the things of our craft
with names of earth: tree, forest,
leaf, root, node.

Our language cannot be spoken.
We write.

We grow impatient when you do not
or cannot see, by closing your eyes,
what we do. It is true, the paths
we follow exist only because we follow them.
The ground we walk is of our own devising.

Our nouns are your verbs. We look
into the doing of things. You see
what we conjure, behavior from machines,
drivers and systems, windows and maps,
we seem wizards. Guru, you say.

Wizard, perhaps. The art is old and high;
tree, forest, leaf, root, node.