As elephantarians when
hollering, yelping and barking
sounds are made we flap our ears and
fly away. they find a fog of dust or
run like kits crying at the woooosh
in dreamlike fright when we take off
and then alight. again, because we are large
we pay no mind, we walk only to
keep the trails wide and with
our ears and size we keep the trails
dry while dogs with their men
pass through to evict our friends.
such as the bear whose fur soaks up
rain drops too, whose strength is unknown and
can make time, it’s true,
pause with a wave of their paws.
between these powers empirically
it is impossible to drown every bear
in water or sound or bad air. our friends do not
know what a shower or storm is. the cubs wash up on land
if they must in dust clouds and use bark for combs.
the young grow from bottle to hand to
arms into beasts who eat kindness yet
still the creeks they crawl from are wet
from steppe to beach in the eyes of the hawk
who flies below calls to stop flapping
and adhere to the terms of arms who
paint cows and bulls with symbols of ears
which grow like fish
or caves in a wave. we all are pasted in 
location echo: we all went to the sea and lived 
as elephantines, pinnepeds, and cast
a curse upon man and dogs in a sea such
as sharks. devouring carps.
we fight them all. our friends.
bears and us, I mean, eating elephants as though
oceans were riverine.