WE ARE ONLY ANIMALS FURRED AND UNDONE
In this land time stops, white bird hovering in the pre-dawn. Unseen fawns high step the wet grass. And we, feet and shins bathed in shallow seas of scrub marvel at the complete dark. “There’s nothing,” you whisper, and then say nothing more. I know you mean the world has closed down its doors. We haven’t slept but tired’s come back to wild elation the way all things circle back to meet their opposites. The way I sometimes become you again. And through bare toes feeling for the towpath, and that stab of electric light moved on by our motion, we find the neighbor’s barn door. No light in neighbor’s kitchen, no horse sounds from the yard. Only the crickets and your breathing, pale face posed, the gun still in your hand.