Killing becomes contagious.Let’s melt down all the gunsinto patio furniture.

At work with words in a lying world,my tongue has a full-time job.I drop words that shatter at my touch,so many that want my full attention.They wear outfits that don’t fit, each onea prima donna demanding attention.Any word dancing in my headhides if left too long alone,every noun demanding its own verbwhen my tongue sticks…

As a child I read and rereadKipling’s tale of Riki-Tiki-Tavi,believing in a mongoosewho killed the cobrasNag and Nagina and saveda British family living in India.Years later, with a new house,our yard had its own snake,a long, sleek Black Racerwho swallowed a live frogon our front walk and whoterrified my daughter, streaking under her swing.And there…

Walls divide the day.In one box I sit,another box for sleep,fabric divides skin from sun,page, stanza, paragraphlike pantry shelvesstocked with words,an alphabetical worldsorted, ascending withone key stroke,the brain a file cabinet–drawers stick–dates,addresses, passwords,and promises.Linnaeus named everythingbinomially distinct from all othersbut the falcon knows its preyby shape, size, color, a flash of lightin dark foliage.

Hard can shelter soft–clams, snails, a beetle’s carapace,horse’s hoof. Not all that’s hard is bad.Matter is solid, something of import.Touching it as I pass the soft afghandraped over the back of a chair, partnerto two pillows, a plump footrest–life upholstered, carpeted, soft music, food that melts on my tonguewhich too pliable.My surroundings don’t demandsleeping on…