The rain is a hood pulled over the world.
Our neighbor’s house, vanishes. & its windows
through which we watch things undress.
The plastic deer neck-bent as if chewing up the lawn
go the way of other deer, of the wolves, the arroyo
turned creek again. & beyond that somewhere
we pass through as quickly as our pickup allows a dry reservation.
Sightless, driven more than driving, we leave briefly
for that higher ground.
& in our absence,
if our cellar floods, well, it’ll give us a reason
for bucket & heft. If the slot machines mommy pumps her grocery store
checks into makes the water there more potable, a reason.
If my brother picks another fight with someone who’s name isn’t
quite like ours. If the horses goddamn everywhere recognize
the yoke of our hands. If from these hills
I can witness
our home, consuming & being consumed. The ironwood I knifed my name
into wash itself clean. The deer return. If the deer return daddy says
wolves won’t be far behind. Shotgun & fences. I can’t see our fence from here.
The barbs, what catches on them. The valley floor. It’s wide- open
mouths we fill with English.
