I can see draughty stars drift
inside my skull.
Roots and boles and boughs and leaves
press at the backs of my eyes.
A spider rambles inside my body and
scuttles out of my mouth.
This suit is an agony.
Black flies from the creek fall into my teacup—
keep one eye on the world, they say.
“Wildlife” is from The Wilderness (W.W. Norton, 2014).