You say I rudely cut her off, that you had to apologize,
and yet you know nothing—I
looked her in the eye,
she didn’t move, speak; I
waited, still nothing—
it seemed like she was waiting for someone, a husband?—
I have given up waiting, I’d like you to know.
I was near to invisible.
I have almost cut my tongue off.
May I say: I don’t want to be entered anymore. I have no use
for it. No pleasure.
Staying in the motel on the exit ramp,
cars back and forward all day, night.
Just watching, sometimes. A little more hunched. And then
a white rabbit between the road and out building.
The weather channel says an avalanche starts with two small grains.
I am planning to give everyone a microphone so they can hear the invisibles.
They may be shy, sick of, happy with, the silence.
How can I tell you what you need to know?
Burrowed in sand, small,
with a rattle. Lethal
to little creatures. Dangerous to people:
hemotoxic venom, they call it. Permanent
damage, it demands medical
attention. The experts say: Leave it