Throats by Tim McCarthy 1. Kinds of us: An Invocation The heart of any human is not merely a heart. It is a vesper’s pulse of wolves’ throats stretched high to blend with moon silver as they point at the darkness to which all stars belong. The pack beats bright evening light back down onto grass and stone as tree and bush sing one in or call two out and sight and vibration sink deep into the black earth. Who would not kneel before this ocean of Psalms crashing against the silence of your hand as it reaches out to touch those throats? And swimming beneath each river of fir, feathers, scales, or skin, is a kind of us we can never know but only love knowing a human heart is not only human. Gyroscope Review 44 !