menagerie

there is a certain grey fox

dashing through the vacant streets of Berlin,

scurrying low along the sidewalks and patches of shrubbery,

panting for air

our paths cross just before dawn

*

there is a certain cottonmouth

slowly gliding down the blueberry branch

of my brachial vein

it’s eyes roll white

as it drinks from the basin of my palm

*

there is a certain flock of crows

breaking across the Northern California ceiling

of the room with no doors

in which I sit

asking why

*

there is a certain spider

constructing an elaborate web

high against the wall of the stairwell

that leads from the nineteen nineties

to the apex of my cranium

*

inside the Art Deco cabinet, where memories are kept

there is a certain swarm of flies

crawling over the actuality that I once cherished,

laying eggs within the dust and moist crevices

of what had been my absolute assurance

*

there is a certain panther

electric-black

moving stealthily through sub-frequencies

of my conviction,

stalking the weakest mammal

within my continuance

*

though still,

there is a certain set of strange, almond-shaped eyes

appearing from the dark

at the foot of my bed

in the middle of the night

they ask me if I

recognise them

if I can hear

the aviation disaster occurring at that very moment in Brazil

or the breathing of an infant in Kazakhstan

the sleep is so deep

there is no temperature

and I no longer know

when I am enough