Before it's gone
birds shriek,
crickets scream,
grasses shiver,
the leaves wave farewell.
I am not making this human,
I am failing, in fact, to reach out of my skin,
to see how near to us they are,
to use my mind for any purpose but illusion.
I split like a knife the tremulous print,
on one side: the fear
that expression is stopped like the flesh with death
on the other: the last opportunity
to speak to a world that is love.
But the truth is
it's a harmonization
the one thing we humans can't grasp.
