Bowing to Each Other

I catch them doing it,
in plain sight,
without aid of glasses
or flashlight —
cautious as deer
in duck season.

Deer except for
a certain grace,
which no human actor
may replicate —
regardless of the shoes
she is wearing.

Not that I can say,
being neither close
as a slingshot,
nor far
as a gunshot;
rather, in the range

Of bow and arrow,
where it’s impossible
to give a good lick,
but plausible
they might curl
at the toes.

Do you see what I see?
Standing stockstill
and clothed —
It must be, I know,
their first time doing it
I am catching.

From my bower,
where sanctity protects
and discretion is easy,
I can play along —
should there come
a part fit for me.

A part shaped like
house and chimney,
formed of the negative space
between two columns,
whose alert, animal faces
lurch

Toward the same bit;
to champ together,
separately —
in practical relationship
to one
another.

Catch me creepinglikeadog
[WOLF enters stage center]
to introduce awareness
of that separation,
and the necessity
of feeling it,

As hopefulness;
for more advances on the path
for getting closer to
enlightenment
than this:

The highest form of intimacy is bowing to each other.

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