I cannot muster effort enough
to show what is and unspoken there
what little deserves and overly qualifies
a human to which I am particular.
There is a body:
made of sinews, contrasting with elasticity –
his rubberband arms and legs
cinnamon facades made for over-ambiguity –
preserving a heart perpetual pumped
this made of gears and specialized and goo
and rhetorical quips lighting globes,
strengthened tendons stand out
that perversely perform clarity
that he is fulfilled
to a simplicity.
But this is not enough
to show what human is
and mechanical is not, and
therefore I do an injustice to
his strength is green briers filled with enduring
cups overflown with grins remorse
and woven strands of lives put past,
the roar of a motor in a desert light,
he takes what individual mocking birds
call out for: shooting hopes in stars,
brisk of night and fresh rainfalling
cloverleaf dances under moonlit
oceans, given to exotic anemones
and prideful strides.
This is maybe his soul.