my people die like a poisson process. i listen to the rain count bodies
while the thunder weeps with me.

The coyotes didn’t show themselves, no matter how hard I searched. Some nights my mom came into my room and stroked my hair before I left to search them out.

...I didn’t see this, but I read somewhere
that an orca carried her dead calf for weeks to mourn it—

It is late
and I am alone except
for you and your colony.

We swallow whole all things / we don’t know, a slow digestion / of the self.

your heart pushes blood
like the moon
pulls the ocean
Fast-twitch, slow-twitch