all, most
bird tracks
trace my face all sliding sand
songs track
their spiders’ way between
one tree and its next
particular
so my foray
into a loud
world of other
animals
I could not dream a plant
nor my triaged merge of cells
what they do each day
hovering over the
abyss the shimmer
all the way down
they empty
all I can offer
onto this heap
of necessary life