We imagine ourselves
as wolves and owls, hawks
and lions, sharks and
deep-eyed jaguars.
They do not think of us that way,
I suspect; never see themselves
in the pale hikers, the secret lovers
naked and earthbound,
the villagers in their encampments,
the accounting manager
fly fishing in a mountain stream,
dressed to the nines, failing
at every other cast. We never say
I am the worm that endures in darkness,
I am the hard shelled crab that opens
to vulnerability often yet survives,
I am the trout that escapes death
but hovers nearby after fleeing.
So hard for us to be human. So hard to admit
we are not comfortable beings.