My Human Disguise.
I crawl beneath a cart that’s bearing trees
As thin as matchsticks and wait for love.
I feel not the slightest hesitant breeze
Nor do the sickly branches quiver above.
The cart has no handles that I can grasp,
Which leaves salvation to patient motion
With no guarantees, like the last gasp
Of the flounder stranded on the ocean
Beach waiting for a friendly stretching wave,
One in a thousand, if he’s to be saved.
I can wait beneath the cart for so long
Before risking rolling beneath its wheels.
I am agile enough, but not too strong,
And love, as I have learned, fears how death feels
