After the creatures of the back stairs by Patric Dickinson poet from Not Hereafter
When we used to stand and stare
Out of the rear window – the birds
And all – all dark and light.
Act one begins as the curtains raises
I learned to identify them
Overtime and I’d evolved
A private taxonomy – I’d share
With Wiggenstien, Po,you and no other.
Even in tiny corners
There are wilderness’ awaiting discovery
“we are.” – a art of this –
Eco system – sharing this as a solipsist
Might this become the cage
that the passing beasts inhabitant
what is in silence?
What is this mutness?
We’ll never know – nor hear the moss grow
So here we sit hearing all the squeals
And cries: knowing that – we are here.