Remnants of Nature in Our Lives

Remnants of Nature in our Lives

A lone hawk perched above the stall and lurch
of homebound traffic down Emmaus Pike;
squirrel’s scattering of seed corn on the porch,
a few hard, yellow grains still on the cob,

the rest in unread Braille beneath my feet;
mystery of meat left steaming on the stoop;
our backyard pear tree’s crop of bird-pecked fruit;
and late last night, the sound of sleepless steps

becoming two deer, bending their long necks
to feed on fallen quince, while in my throat
I taste the rise of some word I can’t speak,
blood-scented, hot, a predatory truth

that names me as the sum of my desires,
another hunger restless in the dark.

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