Another Thing

The water runs in streaks of glass,

A rippled, undulating sheet.

Beneath it, stones in earthy mattes

Of taupe, bleached ochre, and cerise.

In empty streams, reflections fade,

In wood and rock and sky and leaves;

In dirt there’s nothing crying, “me,”

As in love.

Stop! Look, look! Listen!

From conifers, a deer’s appeared,

A jumble of meat with twitching ears.

Unburdened by her frozen guests,

She sips familiar waters here.

And suddenly, I feel my weight,

My footprints clear, my presence strange,

No common ground but where I stand

To hint at how we might relate.

Another thing, an “other” thing,

Whose life concerns me not at all,

Whose space I share and watch in awe,

Another thing, an “other” thing.


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