Next time, be reborn as a white-tailed deer
still as a life-size plastic archery target
stalking the interstate in a group of pines so tall
you’d swear they must remember sky before
the paper factory contributed smoke. Men in trucks
will watch you and wonder if you’re afraid of them,
the traffic, headlights sweeping down the road
like bear eyes, but what wouldn’t you flee?
Remember how fast your heart hammers when you go
all out, how your nose picks up the scent of cologne
meant to smell like the ocean, achieving only sand.
One man or the next will seek you out, will pay
for the beautiful part of you to be preserved
on his wall forever if he can catch you, if you
can be caught, if you are dumb enough to take food
from his clenched fist, to let him tame the rabbit part
that always wants to run. He will think you are a gift.
