Eating the zoo.

It's always so smoky where I live
Nothing seems to want to fly in by...

One morning, I saw a truck, and some guys binding and gutting a  deer.

And the generosity of sharing--no
One was doing that.

They were, like,

Eat if you have.  Enjoy if you can.

Love follows the trickle of love.
The dearth fits neatly in its own shadow.

If I wave away the fumes, with my hand, the smoke will unfold in its place--
A cleansed revision of the flawed first draft.

It's like a record of everything I anticipate for myself.

You--orange,

Tell me your name again.

Homesickness.

I can see their ears pushing through the hair, as they sit near the sea, standing upright--
It's a plump
Scouring sound they hear on the waves,
Not in their own language.

Why is everyone else so heartbroken,
As if left out of a definitive
Confusion?