The man in the broken rectangle ...

There is a man
he lives in a broken red rectangle
not so much is missing
a corner here
a small length there.

because it is broken
he cannot keep people out
they come and go
as do possums and squirrels
woodrats and flying bats.

better luck next time,
a stranger in a straw hat laughs.
Better luck this time,
says the man.
he shakes his fist
but the traveller is long past.

a black toad
with green around the eyes
and a touch around the mouth
hops out through an open corner.
She tells the man,
you are born naked
and no one owns the land
the air or water.

you are mistaken,
the man yells
and she hops away.
the man dies
and the worms and flies
the fungus and ants
they take care of his remains.
vines of flowers
entwine his rib bones
and fireflies and hummingbirds
soar back and forth
above the broken red rectangle
and moles and armadillos crawl beneath
until the broken rectangle is a work of art.
humans come from many hours away
to look, and to wonder at its beauty
how it came to be
what it all means.
the elephants
the apes
the panther
the buick
the laughing hyena
travel over the lines and beyond
and drink with the hippopotamus
and the egret on his back
who reside near the water's edge.