by Tom Zimmerman
Text ©2005 Tom Zimmerman; illustration ©2006 Cubist

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Horn-knobs bulge under my forehead, dozens
of bristles prick the muscles that flank my spine.

I dream I swim through the moss of warm waters.

Wolf-eyed women crouch on the banks of the river
with baskets full of rabbits, quarters of hind.

A musky shadow half-fills a wide furrow
in the earth.
                            A she-bear's face, violet in moonlight,
rises, with teeth bared, toward mine.

                                                                                There's a breach
in the hedge that any mammal in America
can slip through; there's blood-scent, fur-stench
barbing the breeze.
                                              The gored flank of the night
drizzles silver on rooftops.
                                                           I stalk on a chirping
lawn that swallows where I step: let this dark
earth eat my flesh, my soul howl its rebirth.

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