There are animals down there, on the beach. They are having a meeting. None of them are human. This is what tonight brings.
But for her and I, it brings this sex, this act in a penetrating moment. Tonight, even the air is wet. I open her like petals and show her what I am: desire. But it is a lie. I am: regret and fear of death. I am love or in love and butterfly helpless. Looking for the truth in the bones of birds on the beach, where the animals have their meetings.
Birds that fly between the stars are the coldest and brightest of birds. Messengers for the animals meetings. Like me, my love is an animal, a human animal. Something at the heart of things is a bit askew. Still I will find her flowers and bedeck her breasts with beads. Still we will turn our faces to the spirits and the heavens, with questions.
There is a fire, a fire at the heart of things. To leap into this fire is to become a true human, an animal. When falsehood burns it hurts the bones, the false and feeble bones. The white-hot heat of great truth: white as the birds that fly between the stars.
In my bones the rattling truth, a murmur from long ago. This is a hurt world. In it there is love. There are animals whose truth is unarguable. In them there is love. In the fox’s black eyes there is no Bible. The equations we are using cannot be resolved because the math is wrong. No arguments there, in the fox’s eyes. The truth is simple, silent and huge, but it fits in a fox’s black eyes.
So to the foxes I bequeath my bones, and to her my heart, and I will see you at the animal meeting.