and you may see the ten headed beast who is wiser than the wise and is still in the dark
about multiplying tables that lie to you in the moments when time is slipping out of your unopened palms
fingers letting go of that which made fingers out of claws
a little humanity that breached the corridors of beasts and gave me their sinews and the souls of the plants.
If you could carry binoculars all the times, may be the eyes will know truth from the frail
pain from the hurt and life from the beast.
An encounter at an airport was the transit point of the heart.
Note: The title of the poem is originally a subject line of an email message as part of a subscription to Orion
