You hide in undergrowth–all torso
and sinew, fat and teeth. You can’t see

their face, unless you give away something
of yourself–you’re both seeking. What it is,
the trees overhead know. They shower pollen
and they laugh and sigh, bowing and scraping
in the wind. You roil and wait for them
to roll the dice. You know the part well, too–
all too well. This could be anyone.
This could be any place, any other day.
Together, hungry, you both ready
to exact a pound of flesh–this is the game
you play–wind around the narrow
of what is left of your hearts.