There are two
and you are words
and you ask me what separates us from the animals
and I say not much, if all that is left
is these words.
And what can we conclude about them anyway
if not to use words.
To relish in their stutter, their mumble
their spontaneous laughter.
In vessels of two, of who
they don’t know.
To call upon them, the uncertain.
To stand in order, the possible justice.
Here they are together again
for what matters, for
what is in this and that and thou and what is
in th anyway,
a single sound that may become a pair
a multiplication beyond our control
a reproduction in spaces meant
for only cold air to linger.
We are the expansion.
We, the generators, the pollinators of ideas.
And here I become you, you and your thoughts
for just a moment,
just enough to bring down falsehood
and join for a second in truth.
This is a different kind of animal.