They do it in the distance.
Dutifully, up and down,
parallel and perpendicular,
they do it.
They do it in the shade,
in the stream, and on the shoals.
They do it under sedation or sedition.
They do it pathologically.
Neither rain nor sleet
keeps them from doing it.
Aroused or otherwise,
they do it.
They do it with their hands,
lips, and eyes, with whispers
and with blemishes.
They do it to themselves
and to others they deem fit.
They do it with the lights on.
In their own weird and wearied way,
they do it.
-r. miller