Rhino Rhino

If I go out there

And the last rafts are damp with the weather of a hundred hungry hunters, dedicated to the millions of skies above, hung over and left to begin again, soaked in blood and hired to be alone in wandering, looking for me, looking like hell masked in passive anger, looking for something unexplainable, and looking to put out a fire of night that their father's fathers lit long ago; if I go out there and hide not from the shining green eyes of the moon, what then?

Who will tell the grass to grow
Who will tell the water to ripple and stray
Who will tell the air to pulse and the strange hum of the ocean to crash into itself Who will stir the soil and make a song of the birds' declarations

Because certainly I am the wheel that turns the leaves, and certainly I am the colors that mark the days, and certainly I am God's breath incarnate, the intoxicant of free will, and the outliner of the eyes of the earth; and I will be spotted

It is better to stay

To stay within, to stay aloof and upward, flailing and falling perpetually into a broken cradle of rocks and soot that I believe to be honey and morning dew, bound by the claim that I am the sun, and I am the chosen prophet of a trillion ages, given the task of directing the orchestra of time and the mating dance of excellent forgiveness

Because surely they will be looking for me, with their spears and accusations, their bows and arrows and trumpets and hot air balloons, out there in the thick ether, waiting for the one who turns the pages and the one who rows the boat and the one who carries the true weight

And if that's not me

Maybe I've been found already