We are interesting

people.

Our arms

and also our teeth,

every mark of resistance

holds something of interest.

And in the ground,

when we are inhabited

by tiny monsters

when nothing but smoke

sits in our sockets,

even then we are

incredibly interesting.

And we want

the grass

above our heads

to know it,

and death

to understand it,

along with the bird

that lives underneath us

with its irremediably

large beak.