365 Poems/202 Rut (Rough First Draft)


I am stuck, grave snug

in the lives of other people.


When they breathe,

I smell death approaching,


and I wonder if

I should go with him

when he arrives.


But then I remember

I love you

like I love dark skies

in December.


The pulsing, winding

veins protruding

from your forearms

seduce me all over again.


I want to wake up

to hear you murmur

in your sleep.


My heart is glad

that you’re here.

I know because it speaks

to me in whispers.


Caribou calves must be able

to keep up with the herd

twenty four hours

after emergence.


And here I am,

acting as though

everything is frostbitten

to the point of no return.