(In)divisible
The nose is lonely to the eyes
After Famous by Naomi Shihab Nye
The nose is lonely to the eyes,
unable to sense its invisible threads
of connection. Magnify life enough
and you can trace the separation
between all things: each divisible cell,
the open rings of roots, the wild yarn
of a feather, every loose strand
holding together the canvas of breath.
We divide our pine-knit shelters:
there’s a place to hang our dusty layers,
a smooth surface for sharing soup,
a nest to rest our cells—
all of them lonely but for the beating
souls that pass between them.
This train weaves a lonely line into
the evening. We gaze out the windows,
each seeing our own version of corn,
hardly recognizing we’re all moving
in the same direction.