How to Apparel Yourself for the Hunt

Outside, carolling dogs.
In your chest, a slight hissing predicts this year

will not support the great hunts of before,
and it’s true your six-toed bitch is gone,

and the half blue-eyed puppies you secretly fed.
A new mount shivers and stamps.

You’re thirsty for poison.
But when the fox kindles dry fields,

dreams lie down like neighboring kingdoms.
Your heart with its little hole rejoices.