No, that world. Not souls. We
Know how that goes. All those eyes
Trained on one poor life, one day
Or a few, the game, the spite,
The great rush to say cruel things
Or to gush, and then off. Next!
No, I mean the world not us.
Or the world not us, but us,
Which would be the world of words.
Still—rocks, stars, words—things not you,
Not like you, no brain, no heart,
No set span in which to be—
That world. What if one day that
World woke up and looked at you
And you knew. You knew the stars
Peered down at you, knew the rocks
Thought of you, knew this poem, these
Words—we can’t wait to see you.
