I’m an ark within a lamp
two of every me shining bright
a crowd of myself, no dark places
to hide, my mask out for repair.
The man climbing the ladder
to the soffit where the squirrels
have made their home, the man
tolling the bell is me.
I have left the room where
the great glass chandelier
shines above the silent men
and their rows of hands and feet
and their awful eyes without masks.
My task is to learn what
the squirrels have stolen to make
their nest. My knees are skinned,
my shoulders are tight, and when
I am face to face with the ruined
soffit, I can smell the squirrels
and hear them rustling in the
sticks paper hair
fur acorns straw
hunger hunger fear
Clark Knowles 