they say that no two sets of ear folds are alike. that each one has a unique “fingerprint” profile to the exact pattern of rolled cartilage bunched up in soft ridges -much like what the lifework of rivers leave upon the shifting face of the earth.

but i can’t help in
thinking that
we alone hold
a
perfectly matching set
of soupcans
in the whistling dark of this tree-house
night

and if
ever
the taught line go slack,
let it bring comfort still, to the last brushing-up
against the expertly crafted sinew of your word-worlding
throat