BEHOLD an FBI agent creeeping
under a carpet, eight legs at full speed,
hat blown by the wind, tiny glowing eyes
beneath granny spectacles...

BEHOLD a second FBI agent dressed in mourning
furiously knitting his web on top right corner
of ceiling...

BEHOLD a third FBI agent advancing across bedquilt:
green on yellow, frozen by sudden nightlamp
switched on...

BEHOLD the three FBI agents crawling and musing
what kind of human species is here lurking
as well, under quilt, with sighs and whispers
around warm core in darkness...

BEHOLD them vanishing
from sight, from dream, from life
as if they'd never been
but willow whisps on the wind...

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

A collective poem.
2004