They are there, we are here
and the image of both drips
with animal thickness—they are
better off without us for we
dream the long, long, short,
long of it—we dream broken
and halved, oh lord, half
of us are not concerned
with the other—in the heavy
and tight of things left
unsaid, in the long, long,
short, long of it, do we deviate
from habit when threatened?
Do they threaten us by reminding
us of who we are without
our beepy, buzzy devices?
Pose and hold it, a chance to
capitalize (with care) on the
moment, a chance to fill-in an
image of strength although
it’s improbable, even diminishing.
They are there, a glimpse
of what might come to be (for us)
since we are them minus the accents
or minus the mudslides or minus
the rituals but no less better off
when speaking of how we inhabit
this animal thickness. Oh lord,
half of me is looking not having
found what looking can do.