We're all-purpose animals--
nothing is ever quite right, but anything will do.
We're questers, constant seekers,
restless black shapes moving among trees,
make things out of vines and bones,
drink potions.
Pleasure is a veiled dancer under stars,
a song you love but can never remember.
"I’m not leaving this planet until I find the treasure
that fits only me," you might say
to the ghosts of past selves, tired of waiting around,
but they’re not tired, are they, phantoms eager to recite wishes
so a poor kid grows up to have too many pairs of shoes.
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