Fear Is What Quickens Me

1

Many animals that our fathers killed in America

Had quick eyes.

They stared about wildly,

When the moon went dark.

The new moon falls into the freight yards

Of cities in the south,

But the loss of the moon to the dark hands of Chicago

Does not matter to the deer

In this northern field.

2

What is that tall woman doing

There, in the trees?

I can hear rabbits and mourning dovees whispering together

In the dark grass, there

Under the trees.

3

I look about wildly.