Sign Me Up
If Only Someone Had Told Him
Margin Notes
The stars outnumber every grain of sand—
burn through the endless hush,
each one a distant furnace
carving heat into the dark.
The octopus has nine brains.
Three hearts push blue blood
through skin that changes color,
through arms that taste and think—
it pours itself through a gap
no wider than its eye.
A cloud can weigh a million pounds
and still move like thought—
slow and wordless,
dragging shadow across hill
without ever touching ground.
In winter, the shrew folds inward—
its bones, its brain,
drawn tight as a fist of fur,
smaller, smaller,
until the cold forgets it.
None of them
need names for their miracles.
The world performs its strange math
on the great stage, forever forward,
while we scribble at margins,
trying to catch lightning
before it floats away.
