Someone told me if you blow
smoke into a dog’s ear
it gets them high. The pipe
comes to me, from me
I watch my dog jump
the individual pieces of grass
He checks on me
occasionally, then on the
goats in the neighbor’s yard
then back to jumping. He
snaps at mayflies disturbed
by his landings. I wonder
if you blow smoke
at a mayfly, does it get high?
It wouldn’t be the ears
Antennae maybe, or the
breaches in its film
What would high be like
to a daylong animal?
You need time to denunciate
time. I exhaust at the bugs
in the tree. They sit
there, undisturbed. I feel
the urge to quietly whisper
how little they have to live
That crows might laugh
and eat them. A spider might
curl a leaf around them
like shells against an ear
My dog perks, hearing the
silence. I look back at
the tree. I see the traipses
of their eating trails
behind them – the termites
the beetles – in the leaf
in the wood. Even
the dog in the grass. It is
not unlike a written
language. Once upon a time
the apes would look up high
wary of birds
that could eat them