I scratch the ground My mind is a thousand
a swarm of ants grinding voices that
dart off and loudly discuss
toward all the world’s thoughts I thought
corners were private
only there where
I scratched
Are there none What is found
what as light here
through the branches
what now seethes
over moss and mould
are the elementary
memories dissolved into an alphabet that
now gathers as a swarm of insects
that ascend along the branches up and
out through leaves over the forest
up through the purl of double light and away