to the curiosity in the the freakish

goddamn creatures on this earth. 

Our shoes’ soles are caked with dirt

and dust, grazing knobbly roots and 

our throats strained from the cold air.

A spirit appeared at the distance

against the violet and blue hues in their

final dying reaches beyond the trees.

Why does a sight of a deer demand 

lowered voices, still movements, the

need to stop breathing? For us to

count heartbeats, and grip each other’s

forearms so tightly in the revelation that

our gangly limbs and flat faces are features

of equally freakish goddamn creatures?

There is an odd knowing look on her face:

that she knows her guts will rot first, that the

vultures in the forest will tear her open and

she will return to the Earth and none of us

actually matter.