but something else
like a haruspex
—the low exhale
of new entrails
that spit
the fable
the sting is nature
and legs are for those
that must seldom into holes go
so welcome the coil
with eyes the shade
of shields
and bare your ankle
to this slender dart
the grass will be again summer long
clusters of seed at the tips and golden
This poem appeared in The Grove Review, 2012