I know what I think, and so I tell someone

Dreams (Songes), pl. VI; Odilon Redon (French, 1840-1916); lithograph (only state), on chine collé; 1891. Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Knowing drifting is a process both expected and un-, some

types of animals include lizards, include elephants, include

an amount of pre-thinking to remember that sound travels freely

through an open window, that windows are good enough

and necessary for all. And summer months, we need them most.

With grasses and saplings, eyes adjust to smallness, because

to see them wave or bend gently or peeking at the joints, the green room

has no door one can creep through unnoticed. Others – skunks, raccoons,

squirrels, moths, ants, pinching bugs – these also appear, though their green

may be different, slightly lesser. On night-waking, one’s hinges

hurt, and gloom begins another proposition: the green inside the room

is wavering. Proposition: the bird to appear would be the mockingbird,

sprawled feathers, deep eyes. What do I think of the news it carries? I aim

to make it a tool, broadcast it, even: spray of seed and hope that one or some

will take, and others avoid being eaten by those small or carnivorous predators.

Genevieve Kaplan is the author of In the ice house (Red Hen Press) and three chapbooks. She lives in southern California.
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