Two Poems by Dave Rosenheim

INTERLOCUTER
Here, café
bound among people with laptops
or grading papers in this university town

I read of the 2%
of wild things remaining
total body weight vs ours
and the beings we control

my animal form
itself an accumulation of forms
slumps its shoulders
exhales jaggedly
at this fact of collapse and disconnection

when an interlocuter shocks me
into presence, a monarch caterpillar
who stowed away in my backpack
rounds the ledger I am reading
slinks onto my wrist in orange and black
pauses on the thrumming ground
of my pulse, then moves
soft as shadow
onto the palm of my hand

for a moment we trust each other
two beings, borders blurred

I take him outside to a chestnut tree
whose leaves have not yet turned
he accepts the branch
and I return to the polished concrete
sanctum of the café
Radiohead throbbing
softly in the corners

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