The Human Animal

My mind's a mess.

Words, 50 + years of distractions, a well-

practiced self-flagellation.

It wakes me at 5:15.

By the rising sun I wrestle my own demons;

nothing is won because 

nothing is.

I turn and nestle my head against

the fur on your chest,

that well worn breast, with its

well-practiced heart.

I smell your breath, 

feel the folds of my own skin,

imagining

us as creatures in a cave; along with kin

we struggle to save

ourselves for one more day.

We, a species among many species made of

the same stuff: dogs,

cats, pigs, birds, snakes, apes and we -- 

each mutely fulfilling our own tasks to ensure

the larger harmony.  What

makes we we 

is our dexterity.  Strike

a match.

Evolution burns

forward.

The earth turns,

patiently.

To this, I fall asleep, content to live

one more day.