Say you are the colour cones

inside a kestrel’s eyes,

the shrinking rim of the mountain

struck by the dazzling javelin

of sunlight, rushing clear & verdant

into your cells. Say you are a rich

dangling of wild berries munched

to a mush by a ravenous sloth bear,

the juice sticking obstinately

to its fur. Say you are the fly

that circles the memory of sweetness

as the bear lies down dead, a fountain

of blood spurting from its punctured lungs.

Say you are a viper’s sloughed-off skin

gleaming in the rain. Say you are an egg

in a weaver bird’s nest—the only one that will survive.

Say you are the spots on a ladybug

making a coracle of itself in a flooded yam leaf.

Say you are the flukes of a killer whale

slapping the water’s surface.

Say you are a seal choking on a rubber duck.

Say you are the flit & hover

of a swallowtail’s wings scattering pollen

in a garden scorched by flamethrowers.

Say you are nettle. Say you are thorn.

Say you are the bog that will one day

eat your grandchildren whole.

Say you are the flap of a minnow caught

in a cormorant’s beak. Say you are the cow’s moo

setting out in search of its calf. Say

you are the antlers of a spotted deer

that will end up being mounted on a wall.

Say you are anther. Say you are root.

Say you are jade or tourmaline.

Say you are human. Say you are all of these.