Little Creatures
The harvest of mammoth has begun.
A vulture luftwaffe racks the kempt neighborhoods of
Kansas with its shadow
and three mice died on the same spot of pantry
floor three days running.
“They like to die together” you said and it’s true that
suicides take hands on bridge and cliff-face; it’s other
hands that string the noose.
The owls are edging into day,
each wing riding a transparent balloon.
With the fields burnt of cover
prey is too numerous to care for craft.
“It’s the little creatures taking over,” you said and so
we go across the glaciers scattering bread.
| William Emery |
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