Scores of eyes, trawling slowly
For a catch, intent clear as a child’s wailing.
There is no point in making a case, it’s built in the chest, it roars for hours a day.
It does, however, take a saint to ouch it to the back of the line with stealing and murder, a worthy position for it.
Taking time for it chips away at the day, and comfort is often mistaken for the apex movement.
Yet humans rely on it, and not the body, but the mind.