I is funny because it can be we
or us or me or them,
depending
on the swiftness of the dawn
as it interposes with the shadow
and the light reflected on gems
of raspberries in a glass bowl.
“Come with me,” she said.
He (that could also be I), followed
her (that could also be you)
up the slope until she stepped
into a loud column of rain
and turned and did a little
dance and told him to watch
his step and he stopped,
froze, leaning at the edge
of a great crack in the earth
so high above a floor
he could hear the rasps
of birds as they struggled
to stay level with the clouds
and with his heels before drowning.
He told himself he’d been a fool
to follow her here. Better
to be on a boat 100 thousand
years in mists where men
might still rise to greatness
and something more everlasting
than body counts and forgetmenots,
IOUs to galaxies or bones.
From the deep, he (that could be I) heard
cries for help clasped to the edges
of the birds’ wings. Hearing closer,
he saw that a thin gray dome
covered the gulf,
and he took up a stone
and cast it down, cracking
the glass this to the far edge,
releasing through the seam
thin tongues of steam,
but only for a moment
he heard the thin hiss,
only a moment because
you (or he or I or we) slipped in the mud
and she (who could be you
or we, but not us) reached down,
pulled him up, and said, “I told
you to be careful. See,
there it isn’t rain but here–yes–
it is, so be mindful of slipperiness
and grammatical miscalcula
and of that stone you might toss
into a chasm, cracking
the skin of the sky
when thinking
really matters to stop (us).”
He slipped, fell onto the glass
and heard the crack widen
as the sun painted fire
behind a spine-shaped
fence post perhaps fifty
miles distant, raw black
and splintery. He saw
clouds, birds, the sails
of ships, maybe whales,
beneath his hands and the crack
widened still.
He began a crawl back,
slow (it could be you or I),
and at the place where the glass
met the stone (where safety
met updraft) he found
a bend in the path,
small human imprints
turning, and he followed,
because between them he saw
the heavy impressions
of bear and what might
be tiger closely knotted
in the soft surface of the trail.
“Go,” she said. “Follow.
I wont protect you (I or we).
Mud is one thing,
glass roofs and heights another.
Watch closely for shadows,
sniff for things feral,
toothy, and red burrowed
in the green,
cinquefoil, beebalm,
or violet in the heat
of worry. See children
with their hands
on the backs of bears.
A round tiger’s eye
beneath a leaf. A
nd Run.”
Or:
I saw the dragonfly and he saw me
Too many red suns and salad to swallow
And we went our own wee
