Looked down all twelve stories and across the street, where two llamas were hitched to a lamppost, looking confused. Thought they were sculptures, as porcelain cows graze about town, then one moved.

Police were posing for reporters, neighbors stood by talking, all looking confused. Watched awhile, then what can one do except draw back and acknowledge the emergence of something unnamable? Something that overwhelms a merely economic or anthropocentric concern for the environment? An utterly mysterious sensibility, underlying the ecological webwork, has closed the curtains.

Knowing is being able to find
a path by reading available
signs where no path exists.


Later that evening,
               animals and people
Two puddles of
               a lama's                                        stale.


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