Incapable of betrayal: a tree.
Incapable of holding a secret: a stone.
Without contempt for self or other:
an ant, a bee.
Today I and the unhooded bird
that sits on my head
are looking in different directions,
I into the blurring past, he into the blurring future.
How many other pasts and futures
between and around us, we miss.
Incapable of ungenerosity: grass.
Without obligation: mosquitoes.
How close to human
must the breathed-in air come
before it develops a sense of shame or humor?
Each day the falcon’s view a little clearer.
Purchase Michigan Quarterly Review‘s Summer 2019 issue, here.