isavee

[isavee]

Ripples on the sand

And tiny little scratch marks

Sideways these little soldiers crawl —

Dance.

Light ballerinas in slow, scientific movement until they stop

And meditate on the centimeters they’ve moved, on the shadow they feel or whisper of wind that’s swept them.

In and out of their burrows as a bulldog passes by.

A bigger crab makes their way …where?

Toward the ocean, but it’s a long way.

It’s scurry marks pass right by my feet, where she must have busseled by minutes before I got there.

Busseled like she’s in New York. But nothing here is like New York

[isavee]

As you sleep

Ancient eyes, ancient nose, ancient lips

Ancient hair and murmurs and breath

How many ancients live inside of you and me?

Ancianos we can’t know.

Of which our bodies know. Our bodies depend. Our bodies created from. Our bodies soon to create New who may never know us — of us or our insides.

Or will they…

They’ll feel. They’ll see us in themselves in ways they think are theirs alone. In the way they cackle and slouch, in the sag of their gentle eyes or the length and strength of their spine. In the pain and healing they carry inside them that’s mine,

or that’s from Before,

or that’s Ours.

A love poem about you is suddenly one about me.

And us,

The people we can’t know who made Us

Who will we make?

New Ancients who sleep and weep as you do.