We want so much, When perhaps we live best In the spaces between loves, That unconscious roving, The heart its own rough animal. A hunger So honed the green leaves merely maintain it. I thought of the animal’s mouth And the hunger entrusted it. I watched a long time And a long time after we were too far to see, Told myself I still saw it nosing the shrubs, All phantom and shadow, so silent It must have seemed I hadn’t wakened, But passed into a deeper, more cogent state- The mind a dark city, a disappearing, A handkerchief Swallowed by a fist. Driving home late through town He woke me for a deer in the road, The light smudge of it fragile in the distance, Free in a way that made me ashamed for our flesh- His hand on my hand, even the weight Of our voices not speaking.
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