It isn't how we look up close so much as in dreams. Our giant is not so tall, our lizard boy merely flaunts crusty skin- not his fault they keep him in a crate and bathe him maybe once a week. When folks scream or clutch their hair and poke at us and glare and speak of how we slithered up from Hell, it is themselves they see: the preacher with the farmer's girls (his bulging eyes, their chicken legs) or the mother lurching towards the sink, a baby quivering in her gnarled hands. Horror is the company you keep when shades are drawn. Evil does not reside in cages.
[(symbol)’s really beautiful. When (symbol)’s standing in the trees]
’s really beautiful. When
’s standing in the trees
and thinks nobody sees whose. ’s like a stag.
Which sounds silly but is. The way the light shines
on whose. The way it bounces off whose hair
like spray from the sprinkler. And doesn’t know.
Because ’s looking somewhere else.
Maybe up at a bird? I was standing
and turned back because I heard
thought I wasn’t listening.
wasn’t thinking of me.
was looking at a bird
who was sitting in the tree
and looking back at whose.
If whose shirt was off ’d
have been dappled golden by the sun
coming through the leaves. didn’t notice me
watching whose without whose shirt on.
was standing in the forest
and the sun was coming
through the trees and covering whose.
I knew ’d be warm if I walked up and
touched whose. And probably not mad.
’s like something in a movie
or like a book we’d read in summer by the pool.
didn’t see me looking
because was so peaceful
staring at the bird.
*Title should read:
’s really beautiful. When ’s standing in the trees