Whose hand unleashed the hex that sent you speeding from this soil’s silt & shine,
from birch light & oak light & sweet gum & maple? What chorus of creatures called you elsewhere,
extending your range so our alley’s off your patrol, nights no longer brimful of bark & yip, the good
news of your gekkering? These days rabbits wheel free in their warrens, Norway rats
gad about. Where are you now with that dentition designed to grip prey,
skulking low to the ground, furtive & feline along ragged trails & truncated streams,
all haze & hurry in switch grasss, little bluestem, wild rye? As the sky turns auburn & ochre & dusky
merlot, accept this entreaty, summons, appeal— I’ll offer the little I have in my quiver,
silver powder, crow feather & cracked runestone. From the varied meadow remember the winter
our deck was your den. May your kin travel safe beneath the perishing air, the twitchy bough.