The Land of Parrots

Whatever we read, we write.
You mock us as copiers,
But copy us to mock us,
Pretending parrot voices,
Parodying us because
You know we make you our own,
While you’ll never sound like us.

Think we don’t know what we mean?
Think you do? Meanings exist
Between us—that is, between
Us and us, and you and you,
And, finally, us and you—
But they are to all our lives
As our flight is to your feet.

They emerge from our chatter
As desperately social beasts,
From our chatter as from yours,
But they belong to themselves,
Our meanings, our wingéd words,
And they leave us for others
Equally desperate for them,

From beast to beast, tree to tree,
From flock to population,
From land to sea to species
To airless space between worlds,
Because they know they’re mortal,
Meanings, and already ghosts.
We’re copying what haunts them.