I want to be like the cat whose every step
contains the whole heft of her mass
so that all twelve pounds of her
concentrate into a single
square inch of paw pressure

like the bird that builds a nest
inside the buzzy first O
of the Food Mart’s lighted sign

like the man who stands by the bin
thumping the watermelons one by one
till he finds the one whose tone
sounds most red and ripe

like the two linked train engines
running parallel to my car on the back road
for half a mile: bereft of freight – bereft
even of empty cars – glinting darkly,
thunderously unburdened

like the kudzu that is quietly
eating the whole South

like the dappled shade of four o’clock
which is never the same thing twice