I walk the swamp land with saliva dripping from my jowls,
My brother howls at the crocodile ripping its prey.
It’s been a long day on the hunt for dry land
Where moss is elevated three feet to escape the gripping hand
That keeps us grounded in the moisture
While our tongues crack like a surrendering oyster.

It’s murky;
Opaque with sediment.
Caws and cackles, rattling drums
The search for firewood, four broken thumbs.
But um, we’ve just completed a circle
And still the sun is setting.
Time is permissive