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& after the Power Came Back,
the great dead circled the serrated
hills; they tried to remind you
to breathe. An old rat crawled
under fire-forgotten rocks, it was called
& pulled to a movable nothing
packed in the soil, far from the human
need to heed & heal. You don’t
know where to find it now. But a cousin
of winter hauls the wind inside,
& you are a student, so you always put
these questions in your phone, especially
when you feel you shouldn’t cry…
Stipple the worry, the grief torn,
the patterns of should & won’t:::
new minutes set in past danger,
spikelet or callus, you bend & are
awed & are home. There’s that.
Your human burden varies. Yet the once
boundless freedom you sought even in
private mostly pulses in your skin
as seeds between human & non-
human or a slight variation of linked
auras in the trees or a wild radiance
of bodies, hunched to begin—
for the students & for M |
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