What are they?

That is what they wonder.

We are not like them.

We are not easily defined. 

We are not creatures

of clear lines and crisp edges.

We are blurred. Smudged. Smeared.

Unnameable. Unknowable.

Like whispers. Like dreams. 

But we know exactly what we are.

We are the silver silence of sleeping stars.

We are the sluggish seep of blood and secrets.

We are the final prayers of the melting glacier.

We are the hope of lost fireflies. 

We are stretched skin and snarled hair

and eyes like poems that never end. 

We are knives of diamond and death.

We are the anatomy of music. 

We are the shame of fire 

and the wishes of water.

We are shadows and suns,

oceans and deserts.

We are nothing.

We are everything.

We are the world.