Sixes

A beast that funnels deep
Through evening may look furred
In charm but know nothing

Of the run where strange life
Gets done. Life continues,
And living gets it done,

And in the small evening,
It’s the small thing that knows,
Teeth, and fur, and trembling,

And whatever spots ghosts
As vividly as notes
From the throat of the mouse

Floating up from the throat
Of the mouse who wants grace
For a short hour of life

Deserves explication
Out of the eyes of gods
And the dreams of humans.