Not yet erased from a stone
slab in the yard: a single
footprint of an animal, visible
in the almost dark just as snow
has started to fall. Was it lame
or hurt, or bounding away from
some pursuer? We too move through
this uncertain space that every
day feels more abandoned by light.
But somehow our bodies carry us in
the dark, and we stretch our arms
forward, feeling for the shape
of something solid or a hand to pull
us in the right direction toward
home. Isn't that what we all want?
If stingless honeybees in the rain-
forests of the Amazon have been granted
the legal right to exist and thrive
and be legally represented when harmed
or threatened, why should our breaths
and voices not rise above a hum or leap
toward sounds that call to us in welcome?
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
