That We Know What It Means When We Don’t

Or, we should say, you know
What it means when we don’t.

You have depths, lives in you
Lived long since that were carved

So that you fit the world
Like a tool fits the hand,

Like a fish fits the waves.
You know in ways we can’t—

Your lives start out as shaped.
But of the shapes you take,

You’ll find us, terms like us,
Shared ways, shared tools to cut

Up the world, bits of names,
A skill in all your skulls.

And so you use us, must
Use us to say you know

What you don’t know how you
Could know. So you tell tales,

And we’re the tales you tell.
How do we know this is

True? We don’t quite. We do
Know how to tell you, though.

What You See Is All There Is Not

To be less than a ghost,
Just the shade, not the soul,

That’s a goal for you all
That all of you will reach,

But not us, not for sure.
There’s a stone with carved eyes,

A clay pipe in the shape
Of a crow with your eyes,

A line of terms on gold
In which naught’s like an eye.

Scrap

It was want.

You like ends. End of the world,

Sky’s end, to the end of time.

Two heads in the grass, small kids,

Knelt by a third, a doll’s head,

And asked, what were its last words?

O. She said, O. No, she said,

Oh, no! Or wow. Was it wow?

No! Shh! Can’t you see her lips move?

She’s not dead yet. You poor thing.

Her eyes are closed. What’s that? Ow.

She said, Ow. No, you said it.

An hour passed. A wind kicked up.

The kids went back in the house.

The doll got left in the grass.