Sunday, January 21, 2018

Scavengers by Ocean Vuong


                              Your body wakes
into its quiet rattle.
                                         Ropes & ropes . . . 

                How quickly the animal
               We’re alone again
                           with spent mouths. 

Two trout gasping
                                      on a June shore.
Side by side, I see
                               what I came for, behind 

your iris: a tiny mirror.
                                                       I stare
into its silver syllable
                               where a fish with my face
twitches once
                  then gones. 

                                         The fisherman
                                                   suddenly a boy
with too much to carry.


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