The poetry written by lions cannot be understood by housecats,
nor is there much hope for a fish understanding the verse of a mole,
even though they both tunnel, one through water, one through soil.
The literary ambitions of the sloth
do not measure up to the aspirations of the beaver
who constructs poems to be lived in out of sticks and mud.
The spare crow has patiently explained his haiku
to the sonnet-writing peacock to no avail.
The giraffe despairs of making sense to the snake
even though they have in common long necks.
How would you translate mongoose into caribou
without ruining the syntax and rhythm?
Monarch butterflies have a word for migration that no bear would understand,
so how do they tell of the sky trails they follow each fall?
Amphibious frogs are bilingual.
They write skillfully in two languages, wet and dry,
from lily pads floating on water.
Can the white-tailed deer share in any meaningful way
the pleasures of a second chewing,
except with the cow and the moose who already know?
The ant’s world is full of giants, He lives in constant fear
of being caught between a sidewalk and shoe.
But how can he communicate this circumstantial anxiety
to the blue whale, the elephant, the rhinoceros?
The earth worm is destined to fly,
but not in a way that you would find agreeable.
It allows itself to be absorbed completely into avian blood,
and only when fluent in a sparrow’s veins will the worm
feel the rush of wind against his poetic wings.
2014