Some songs are best as background:
Words unheard, rhythm only, harmony guessed,
Like a stray aroma, too vague to catch a grip
On a past long gone,
Like hawk-baiting wrens still thrashing
After the raptors have all gone home.

All the best birds will eat carrion, even prefer it
Leavened and tenderized, not like the fierce will
To hang together you get from raw muscle
Newly riven from the bone, still hoping
For a quickened heart to bring new blood,
Still pushing back at beak and claw.

I try to imagine the silent throat,
Its alarm stilled forever.

Genealogy II

Somehow, a mitochondrion wormed its way
Into our native beast, and, having found shelter,
Settled in.

We have twisted it to our liking,
Harvesting its life energy,
Binding it to ourselves

Like an indentured child
Harvesting the boundless sunlight
For a wizened mole.

Those walls have long since dissolved,
But part of us still seeks
The primitive new,

The strange echo of mutation,
The protean coil,
That entwines alien virtues.

But for every meld there is a sever,
How can I embrace you
If we have become one?

And for every sever there is a mending.
And so we spin and part our helix
Until end becomes beginning.