Entrainment

The fox of evenfall looks at me when the moon comes down

it reads the plowlines and wormpaths

leaves questions in the dirt: Who named you? What for?

No one has fed the earth in days.

Lumps of rock like sheep scabs in the field, chewing old sunlight.

The quiet licks their backs like a mother.

Your body is inside me like a system of caves, places where air can go

that I cannot. My hands itch

with old alphabets. I bury them. Here I am, so much of the world

has never met me before.

Your Rorschach face goes walking into the sleep-stare of space,

never choosing a shape.

All the insects rise. A stone opens its mouth near my foot,

I give nothing to it.

Night begins to close like a sore throat. The pink morning will find us

dry by the window like dead bugs.

The fox pulls a hair-thread from my head runs into the horizon’s eyelids

to stitch me into sometime elsewhere.