I
Names change

        but the concept

stays the same, tracks you

across the valley.

Night rides in on a gust
                                star-scatter

                        like so much porcelain.
Is an alibi a deleted scene

or a red thread? Dust in the pigment

matted mane under silk folds.

Like painting

        desert blossom

you go by bone structure

not appearance.
                  Number the joints

         count the filaments

know that it takes a single slip

to spoil the line. One hump

can still pass as a horse. Two

is fooling no one.

                       You look to the brush––

                       the concept slides.
                    II
One stands perfectly still, inclines

       gently her head.

Two argue about the weather.

One keeps mostly to himself.
One is revealed only by delicate

       stokes.

One has never seen the ocean.

Two pretend to be otherwise.
One thinks, a pose is a fusion of form

       and subject.

Another says, half a rock

       is also a rock.

One knows you could yield your life

       to this place

       and still not understand it.
One believes actions can be governed

       at a distance.

Two discover a kingdom

       in a fleck of salt.

One finds it easier

       to pass through the eye

       of a needle.
One forgot to interpret

       the scenery, insists he is

       not lost.

Two make plans

       and put them in motion.

One spits on the ground

       completes the pattern.