Clumps of broken earth laced with concrete, galaxies churning out trillions of stars, drops of water showing, under the microscope, billions of squiggling protozoa are the inhuman movements I see with a surprising finding since biologists thought 'handedness' had evolved only in animals that used their hands, feet or paws to manipulate food or other objects routinely...Unlike humans, most animals are evenly divided when it comes to a man who speaks to me: "You know that kid who shot the cop, I hope he dies, the little bastard." Slumbering or deceased, this ground doesn't yield a single seed.

In olden times, we lived with the mask of an animal never before seen, storing it in a corner of the room.

Walking in wilderness, the Other becomes aware of itself in us, when we offer ourselves as the site of its own self-expression, when our gift of voice is genuine, no strings attached, when the expression is not that of ventriloquist projection I pass a log with cold green water sluicing over it, spewing up foam and mist, each breath "an inheritor of earlier loves."