My neighbor got this buck

Speckled piebald and pink like a pup

Not long for this November

Like a hare turned to snow before the snowfall.

The neckbone of a deer is no different than Buddha sitting cross legged on the ground

The only way to see the setting sun his face is raised to

Is to peel him clean with my teeth.

I pet the heads of all the dark things I live with

They sit watch while I find my way through the night

They don’t know they need me

I don’t know I need them

It keeps things light.

Sometimes when I leave them alone in the house

They take big bites out of wooden spoons

I thought I couldn’t live without

and make me throw them into the fire

and make me slurp my bowls of soup

from two hands.

I do make my way to the woods by morning

and I sit again in the leaves

Somewhere between woman and stump

Trying my hardest to hush the girl

and return to dead wood

so the moss can make me soft again

But I can’t quite kick the habit

Of daydreaming about squirrels

stewed in serranos

And it’s hard to sit still in this bland hunger.

I think

When I get home, I’ll stuff the ground with garlic.

No one came to visit

Not one whiff of deer

But I did get washed over

By a warbling wave of mice

Like a soft, trilling tide under the leaves

Who stole the pumpkin seeds that spilled from my pocket

but left a song

And of course the ravens

Who saw right through me

And moved on

But from time to time

if I was quiet

a clear memory of someone I’ve loved.