Let Us Revisit the Tigers
at the Bronx Zoo. The ones I loved when I
was a child. The borough you have never been to.
I keep speaking to you in poetry. I'm sorry.
I never thought I would be this way.
were low and lifeless.
The tongues laved carrion
livers. A fawn awoke heaving somewhere
in the Russian Far East, amazed at its being alive.
If you cage the animal, it cannot hunt.
I am crazy
The taste of your tongue is not
a memory. The tiger bit at beef from a grassy upstate
farm. It tasted like licking a brick wall
and was entirely