After you have seen your own child dead,
you are completely free,
said a mother,
but she was mistaken.
Scissors cut the umbilical cord,
break all mothers’ snare ropes,
but the child can’t break loose.
An invisible hand,
invisible ropes still move
the four limbs.
And the marionette won’t collapse, instead,
it returns in order to leave again,
under a great shadow
free fungi are conceived,
mycelium spreads over the rock.
There is no one to acknowledge the common debt,
although the rain will never recover it.
A crow carries a seed, the seed carries a myth,
a legend, the data that was recorded in a plant.
The plant feeds animals,
it grows leaves
under the window. The tale of the plants
surrounds him. He’s reading it.
He owes it. Doesn’t admit it.
A stevedore confirms the cargo, connects two
a hoe and a fork that don’t know how to
hate each other or acknowledge
the common debt, the debt binds
When a diesel engine rumbles by, silver
flashes in the water, gives way,
but the beast never expresses gratitude, unaware
that it’s living in the shadow of another,
bigger than itself, and eating its food.
When your own child wins honor, you are complete,
said a father
not knowing he would outlive his son.
The same vein still fed them, since a family equals one animal,
a village one brain frame,
and a human being is a thought in it, just as incidental,
as a lane-change, an impulse in traffic,
before the morning rush.