In certain cultures
the weak are left behind
in order to ensure the survival of the band,
a sick boy welcomes the flies,
a man thinks of how alone he is in the shade of a tree
that’s calling all the lions,
the stubborn child in the belly of a pregnant woman
refuses to budge,
that final relaxation,
a dog hit by a car continues to sniff,
only in the wrong place,
the moment before the brain chokes,
a blur over the water,
and the faint outline of trees in a small town,
a crane overhead,
the way plants in the ocean go back and forth
where all is quiet,
I’m in the house, but I’m not too.
the real subject is always you 