a very big thing;
it's more like
the faceted tip
of a jewel—
that minuscule,
razor sharp
vanishing point
where Kinship
meets up with
and annihilates
the Individual.
It's a definite,
and a desperate,
and a weaponized
kind of knowing—
like the way
each blade of rain
knows the river
where it came from—
or a pair of stainless
scissors knows
the susceptiveness
of paper—
or a small
desperate mammal,
who has built
its mock nest
under the hood
of your Ford
in the winter,
instinctively knows
that it needs
much more help
than it possibly knows
how to ask for.
