I have been lost for some time now. the hunt
has been long and cold. and maybe

it has all been for nothing. listen:
my cat and I sleep back to back like two

mirrored moons. this is how I learned
my body’s soft groan. its clumsy

bones growing heavier each night. this is when
fur tangles and emerges from my mouth

like an animal. it is something familiar—I call it
beast and it grows teeth. somehow,

the only thing I fear is the dull knock of my heart.
its dangerous call into the wild.to quench

its cry, I undress and redress and undress again
in front of the window like the whole world

can see me. I glow like lamplight. like some
tropical and unnamed creature. feathered

and clawed. fowl or forked tongue. what
would it take? to be an assassin of my body’s

claim to blood and pain. I wish I could be
as flashy as the waterfall. as Niagara’s roar.

it spills and does not stop. even when engineers
divert the water and it becomes a drizzle. even

when a bird flies into the rush. even when
I shiver in the mist. lean into the spray.