I soften
in animal space.

Not much; I think
I am already softer than 
most people can see — 
and harder too, in ways
I do not let them see.

Whether in close quarters with
a young cat or an old dog,
or with joy-spasm ferrets
of any age; when I am

in the near space of something
large — a horse, or one perhaps far
from its natural home, a giraffe
or the odd country fair llama;

even when I come upon
(with what I admit may seem
a frightened side step)
a flash of snake or blur of
unknown wild mammal,

this righteous shell I wear
in human company 
shivers and dissolves a bit
in an inward shower
of glad tears

as I witness and bow
to the presence of life
without opinions, life beyond
right or wrong,
God-talk or God-war,
complexities
of love and hate;

in animal space
I soften,
become

more being than 
human being.