by Arran James

little gestures/
raising a hand or trying/
to indicate a life
richer than the endless.
so tempting to call it
mere animality,
mere motor reflex but
who am i to call it that
who raves sometimes
about the inner world of
mitochondria and taxis.
of all our words
maybe ‘life’ is the emptiest,
a pretension that we reserve
for things that are a little
like ourselves.
this isn’t a vitalism,
it’s a howl let loose for things
that cannot speak.