Talking to the Animals

A poem with long lines. I've posted it as an image (click to embiggen); text below the break.

I've taken to talking to the animals. They listen as though interested, the squirrels
bright-eyed, the dogs with their heads cocked, the kitten attentive and questioning.
The crows talk back, their husky caws, counting along with me. Cat puts her paw
to my breast, purrs in reply. I tell them

my dreams, how the sky opens up for me, takes me in like a lost child. The stars
step back, make room for me. I fly, untethered, unbound. I tell them all I've lost,
besides myself. I ask: what am I supposed to do? They laugh their booming
laughter. They tell me

there is no 'supposed to', there only 'is'. There is only what I am doing this moment,
sitting at a machine, asking it to translate my human self. The ground opens up
for me, takes me in like a found child. I take from it that lightning, that darkness
that explodes inside. It tells me

who I am, what I am, this standing-up animal of self. I lift my ears, I cock my head,
I caw and growl and lift my hand to my own breast, here, my-self, in here, some-
where. It opens up for me, takes me in like its own child. What am I supposed to do?
Open up. Open up.