Every wild thing I’ve known
trembles in the light. The shiver
in the spine of a rose before it blooms.
The quick sprint of deer
deep in a forest. The sigh of relief
from trees after they stretch
and pull their bodies farther
than ever before. The quiet
becoming of a human heart.
In the porch, wasps click
at the windows, their bodies
shaking with the force.
Outside, crows startle into flight.
Somewhere else, a dragon spits
embers fearing what a fire could burn.
Your hands, the wildest
things of all, won’t stop moving.
In an effort to go back to when we
were the children of beasts,
we speak in our native tongues.
Use more vowels than consonants.
Repeat the word ‘honey’
because it feels good. Our fists
on the ground, we crawl into love like dogs
and the wild things we are.
Make a den, build a fire.
Later, the smoke will taste like plums.