We

		We,
creatures of mimicry –
the gatherers of forked leaves, cherry blossoms
	stowed warm in your purse;
the rain bicycle – not cycle – but bicycle:
one we ride home, all “gung-ho”, better
	in a thunderstorm

		So,
instead of talking to we,
we, talk mostly, to the trees.
Or,
	the blush-hop of a robin
(splinters for tea) and, sometimes,
the rat-tat-tat of light as
		it flashes through iron
				fences
On Sundays,
	as the crowds line up, we,
well-wishers, used lovers of 
		Yggdrasil;
ticket buyers
terracotta sticking-plaster hoarders
newspaper wrapping
plastic perfume bottle top burning
			“We”

bury thumbs in jam pots
	honey bee hotels
		swallow-throats,
and
	sometimes
	the odd cactus flower

			Followers of
anything called
		house
		home

Until we, replace "I"
	with
coat-tails
	rock-graves,
the crawling on all fours until we find 
	something
		
	“finer”.

© Eve Redwater 2012