On the news this week, it was reported
that we claimed ownership of the moon—
its hammered surface rising over beaches,
schools, parking lots, and detention centers;
its cratered Sea of Tranquility where Apollo 11
touched down and the astronauts left bootprints
that are still there because the moon has no weather
to wash them away. Perhaps someone will also try
to claim ownership of the bees and their gold
cells, the rivers and all their tenants folding silver
light beneath the bridges. Could we claim
ownership of the seas’ republics that predate
our own, the fireflies threading messages
in the dark, the sweetness spilled from honey-
suckle throats on the vine, the fields with too
much fruit because now no hands are there
to harvest them? Could we claim the bright
speckle of salt on the shore, the shoebill stork’s
voice mimicking artillery fire? Orchards before
blossom, seeds before they wake. Hunger
that opens its mouth all day without seeing
how taking is not the same as receiving.