When You Live Along a Wildlife Corridor

At first you think you enter with your eyes, that

you must look, and look silently

for the slipping through

the dart and dash

the little gift

and so you

look and look

out the window

up through the sky

across the field

into the woods

all day all day all day all night

because you never know.

But finally,

after a while,

after months and years, you realize

that when you live along a wildlife corridor

you do not look, no, you do not look —

you listen

to wings against air

and you grow

ears upon your neck, eyes across your fingers

to sense a split second before

if you have any hope at all

of being let in

to what is

just out of view.

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