Some hear rain. Some hear the cracking whip
that illuminates a star-dusted sky. Some
hear cold tremble of white fur, soft eyes, as
the intake of breath becomes softer with each.
Some hear the startle of the ants dwelling,
a swell of bodies together in fear,
as the tree bark cracks.
Some hear the gentle ***** of the quivering forest,
a harrowing descent into whiskey dark.
Some hear hollowed out emptiness
that rain makes when knocking on a tree,
inside smelling of pine and empty
nests. Safe here, safer, save her. Drip
drip goes the pine, as a thick gaze falls
upon a branch too far to reach.
Alone, where some hear soft crackling
of the fire embracing wood, she can hear
the stream of mumbled prayers from her to
the tawny owl to the dry-creak bed,
soaking into each crack like a parched breath.
Does she imagine she will ever leave?
still, be still, still be—here, always.
Some hear tired maples sleeping by
rivers, their roots flowing like smoke to
find something beautiful, yet lost.
Is it loneliness, she sees?
Do they wander without ever reaching?
The panther’s paws are placed
in the wet dust of morning.
The grass is dewy, soft under the
hard boot-tread of her feet.
She can wait until the stars align in
the saddle-shape of soft leather and emptiness.
She can wait to cry in the dawn, where
the grey is ugly and she is still broken.
But she is alone and lost in a patchwork quilt,
a soft sinew that will don a snowcoat soon.
But the night is long and she is endless,
her arms stretching to the treetops,
her lips brushing against weary memories
that she has her whole life left to uncover alone.

I am surprised I can remember
the smell of you
how sweet and fresh and neon
like the space that was filled by it
how close our faces stayed
how long did we last
how I didn't want to leave
how we could have stayed and grown filthy
like your floor
if we had remained
our mouths may have done too much
my teeth may have turned the color of your hair
your skin may have become
layered

your bones should have crushed mine
but instead we grew supple
I thawed like ice
you floated down me
mud mixed into the water
bears and elk bathed in us
and the surface became clouded
with dark fur and foam
you sunk your head and tasted
the blood of the elk and the ***** of the bear
I remember your hands were still smooth and soft
and I was not afraid but still shuddered
like a tiny animal

the east path cut out through
the blackberries and nettles leads back there
so does the trail of raisins from the south
and the thunder clapping coordinates from the north

I gathered my things and headed west
where I won't feel the porcupines on your chest
or see the dappled forest floor in your eyes
the river coursing through this place
has no elk or bears
the lips of the boys here taste of smoke and wet cement

now I remain
clean
alone
nestled in my own beauty
like a goldfinch preening
not one of the fat sparrows that
hopscotch on these sidewalks

I know what you're doing
I know her eyes are growing crusty
your hands make knots out of her hair
your bodies grow tired from the rhythm
of pressing together
her feet are bigger than mine
her smile glossier
you will not find otters living behind her ears

Perhaps I will see you anyway
in the winter I will wear a charcoal snowcoat
you will lift me from behind and I will squeal in surprise and delight

Outside my window people sing hymns on the street.