As If

How do you explain why elephants appear to move their unwieldy hulks with greater dignity than most humans do in their finest moments, as if they had evolved beyond wanting anything but what they have? Why does the field begin to ripple before the wind arrives in whispers, as if there were a communication, as if the landscape were poorly dubbed, and we weren’t expected to notice? What butterfly does not dart away from us as if it could sense our latent cruelties, and yet return to check and double-check? Has the night not gotten recently darker, as if to insinuate that we have squandered the light that was there? Have we made too much of our own? And did you notice afterward the dawn opening up with a tentative eagerness as if there were something crucial to illumine, as if we would wake up early just to see it? I imagine you reading this now with an expression of quiet trouble itself troubled by currents of hope, as if you imagined me here with you, as if I might be able to see your expression, and at least answer it with mine.