A low ringing in the ear of the forest.  
An animal, never more than one 
year from death, dragging forward 
in time. If I’m patient, I’ll listen 
while a mate calls to other mates, 
while she gathers herself for 
this or that. Maybe I’ll leave 
these words alone to rise 
and fall by themselves—drinks 
swallowing their ice. Last summer 
I grew at the waist, and how did  
the world respond? By shrinking  
my only suit. I’m not torn up  
over my childhood, I just wish 
I could’ve been there: like part 
of a spaceship meant to burn off,  
I burned off. I was so wasted,  
so gone, so fiery red in the face 
of ghosts. Looking back, I can see  
the mistakes I made, the mistakes 
unmaking me who I am today. 
In the forest, what I think I hear 
I hear. I look up at the sky  
all alone in the rain.