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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