Anthropology

Now I understand the anthropologists when they search out
the greats as valued by their respective rapt audiences. 

I am a road sign
and I stretch a gray shadow across the road.

I am a pine tree
and I lay flat a longing swipe of black

I am a bicycle or walking dog
bouncing on brick walls,
leaping between alleywall and alleywall.

Russian novelists do understand humanity-
in swirls of dark gossip,
and blocked lines in softening ink
there are people. 

I believe the Argentinians do as well. 


-Citron