You rise above it all
the traffic, our arguments
on these crusted roads.
You see more in one flight
than I will in a lifetime
crammed with questions
scanning maps
I still can’t see what might enter
the intersection ahead.
Our views are foggy
unclear, one dimensional, a narrative
that relies on what came before
as if our language
can explain everything
even your talon clasping death dance
for a mate. Is that love?
Should I be willing to die for love?
One day
you might have this planet to yourself
and will not have to stay clear of those
shiny birds that break the wings of others
or fear your pantry poisoned by oil,
or forests uprooted for pipelines
because we are unable to see
more than one dimension at a time.
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