Tesla Ressa Poet Sestina

The Alphanumeric Canopy

We exist for different purposes, perhaps 1 perhaps six
Forage food, mark trails and warnings of the enemy we echo
Sometimes, the unknown and uninvited guests, we query
Is our unison voice singular to a higher up?
Are our motions and interpretations of our universe just?
Maybe we will never know or we will find out in five

I imagine they are watching counting our progress, from the obsidian vastness, perhaps in series of five.
We assume their intelligence is higher, maybe of aeons six
Do they see us and think we are primitive just?
Or are they amazed by how far we seem to echo?
Our adaptations lead us on paths marked by contours going up
To search for meaning and ensure our surroundings we query

That one stridulation triggered a series we have to query.
Where it came from, why the palpitations of five?
Did wires that weren't supposed to touch there up?
It must have communicated something their six may not be our six.
We could try to mimic and that signal we echo
To the beyond and hope they understand us just

Up down we march to match our actions just
A rich medley, multi-terpene blend signals we are going to query
We march towards the stridulation, our sensilla seem to echo
A chain of unknowns multiplying in exponentials of six
The map we attempt to follow only goes up to five
We hope to convene the right message up

I'm sure the crows caught it, we felt the disturbance up
But that was not one of us just
Different temporal structures, I guess we close the voyage in six
Just for the moment as we recalibrate and make a new query
Signal predictability, yardstick useful for seconds five
To aid us try to understand the beyond that we echo

Our conquest to understand is only now an echo
The intensity we ought to have no longer stepped up
Hoping to cross paths again and know in five
What’s being said and signalled just
Atop a hill of questions we send out our last query
And hope the higher being catch it as we count to six

We map the numbers from six to five,
Hunting the crow's echo and cosmic query,
While up on the mound, we are just ants.

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