2018. A laptop, a ladder, LED light, a newspaper,
my loves, my fears, food in the refrigerator, a fern, desk,
artist tape, letters, ink, books on shelves, my body,

beyond here, the umwelt.

Who are they out there, be they sleeping or awake;
what shades are they in dim rooms, what reveries do they bear
on sunny beaches, with whom do they lay with
if they lay at all, how much knowledge do they possess –
it does not matter,
does not matter, at all.

I could easily love you, whoever you are.
I could easily misjudge you, whoever you are.
In a cameo tank, and bright blue spectacles
I could greet you, whoever you are.

We are rash in our thoughts, untrained by time, beholden
to a biological history, I’ve knelt beside the thin line
that divides me from you

and raked it, with my fingers, I have slit it,
been pummeled by the cascading truths I have drank them
in downy sweet winters and wrathful summer wars,
choked on ashes of hopes and tedious chores
these lives, these lives, so unkind
yet astounding.

Have we not all brushed against the profond
and come

unraveling –
holy fuck

who are you? You just across the hall, soldier
now in his grave, mother juggling coffee and babe,
roller derby victress, philosopher who never
printed a word, prophet wandering the streets
in the dark alone.

I shant know
the things I will not.
Crow out my window, where will you go
thirty-five hours from now; do you also wonder

about your fellow crows?