What bloody lense holds firm between this mystery & us? Two shiny crows 
tapping intelligently on the glass of a dream.

              Please! Do not make me do the human things—

I must tend to my many plankton realities, 
                          must be off with my better self:
                                                                            One million faces lined 
                          along a mirrored tunnel & in each that same tricky knot begging.

You couldn’t know how long I suffered over it, my long waiting at the end of the maze.

I can only guess what you think I’m after,             stretching in the mirror 
while you rattle on about sabotage,

                                                       an old tension springing in the body.

Copyright © 2021 by Gabrielle Octavia Rucker. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 8, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.