A tiny ear to listen
stuck like wet fish
scales of pearly iridescence.
The push through darkness—
propelling fearless—
Eyes of smooth moldy weeding
edging mouths and arms
(fastened tightly to their sides).
No fingers, but they listen they
have a sense far worse and wicked.
At the height of mountains,
or the depths of unconquerable
fierce darkness. Angry mottled dirt.
A vibration felt through skin
Whether thick or colorless
And fragrant or punctured
Smooth smooth sounds
Push through the water
Pale and streaking light from
The sky. Penetrating sporadically
the room of silver.
And yet, movements are agile,
silken, sleek and flawless in their
execution. Ease of living.
Here they are, with tiny ears
I listen. Stuck to the sight.
I am. Listen, listen.
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