Carved from the sea’s storm and beached
like sleep and waking. They are two of
thirty three and feather-footed even in this
burnish of gold; how the tusks of one point
to its O of a stomach filled with seal skin
and attachments – pinniped as Latin for fin
footed, not family, yet here they are together.
The rest are corpses and driftwood, remind
us of how wooden hardened hearts are to
one another. It either is or is what we want
to see, like how to place ourselves in this
clade of carnivores when we walk by with
our arms in arms and smiling, a nod to extant
families, and loudly applauding our humanity.