The Blackest of Inks

At night,

The panther,

Who is lean and quick,

Is only

A pair of eyes

And, with a yawn,

Momentarily,

A long, pink tongue.

Mostly

He listens

As he walks

On the puffs

Of his feet

As if

On a carpet

From Persia,

Or leaps

Into the branches

Of a tree,

Or swims

Across the river,

Or simply

Stands in the grass

And waits.

Because, Sir,

You have given him,

For your own reasons,

Everything that he needs:

Leaves, food, shelter;

A conscience that never blinks.

Mary, are you the panther who walks in the night with the blackest of inks? Has God/existence given you everything you need? With your ink do you have what you need to assuage your conscience with these poems so fine? If you don’t think you have what you need, do you imagine the panther does?

I don’t know what Mary is thinking here. Also, I don’t know what a panther is thinking. Perhaps they too feel regret over actions; a cub lost when she ranged too far from the den to hunt, a mate given over to a younger, strong competitor, a forest deer that screaming in the day’s dreaming.

I come out on the side those nothing fundamental separates humans from other animals. For the most part if we say “humans only do this” we find out through science and observation that this isn’t true. The difference is often only matter of scale and interpretation.

So what then of conscience and morality? Studies have shown that a sense of moral code does appear in social animals. What do they do to lessen their shame? Can they write poems in the dark of night? Can they arise like I do before the sun, scribble my thoughts here for you to read, hoping that with this virtual black ink, I may better able see the sun’s light in every being and every moment?

May I hunt without blinking, totally focus on the love that has yet to be born and the ego that has yet to die. Together, with the jaguar of the tropical forest, we kill to nourish ourselves and our world.

What does your conscience tell you?