Body language should insinuate –
unlock the gate – invite its volumes
and intentions ordinately to inhabit
what is granted in its gift of space –
permits it to pursue its covert aims –
become inordinately drawn to games
of nuance, whim, suggestion: wavering
between the dream of fact, and fact,
with all the shy ungainly grace
of something that’s not been here long.
Let every limb sing its inimitable hymn:
collectively lift up a song to all
that stirred and stirs, will stir itself
to promulgate this grand infinity
of word and flesh and death and birth:
then itemize exactly what it’s worth.
How to effect all that?
Easy. Watch a cat.