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.