A Shrew

One time a long time ago when I was supple and strong and rubbery
As a snake in a hurry I was on my belly in the bush and saw a shrew
In the litter of leaves and for the longest shortest moment we startled
Each other considerably but maybe the scale of our encounter was so
Ludicrously unbalanced that our normal fear of weird missed the bus,
Leaving us eye to eye under the epic ambition of a huckleberry tangle.
I remember thinking that the shrew was awfully near my two absolute
Favorite eyeballs and that shrews are said to be terrors among the tiny.
I remember that it was the size of a thumb or a thimble or a little cigar.
I remember that it had a lustrous dense shining coat as black as can be.
I remember wondering even then what it could possibly be wondering.
I remember that he or she seemed to be missing a northeast appendage.
Many questions and angles of inquiry presented themselves to me later,
Such as what combination of factors could deduct a limb from a shrew,
And what manner of beast could have executed said deletion—perhaps
A romantic tangle, a political wrangle, a religious debate turned savage
As so often has been the case? Or the usual suspects snuffling for meat.
Or maybe shrews, who do not live long in the way the world calculates,
Dissolve a leg at a time, growing ever closer to the sensuous roil of soil,
As do we all. But meanwhile there’s such a hungry immediacy, correct?
All these years later that’s what I remember from that shrewish moment,
That I stopped thinking and just stared. Yes, partly because I was scared,
But there was something beyond curiosity or the startle of astonishment.
For just an instant I paid attention with every shard and iota of my being.
Maybe we couldn’t survive if we were like that all the time, I don’t know,
But when it happens we see that which none of us can find the words for.
Sometimes we are starving to see every bit of what is right in front of us.