Chimeras
My daughter says she is the Wolf Singer.
She plants the vertebrae of her enemies
like seeds. She’s three.
I understand.
I too wear my antlers most of the time
now. It only hurts the first
hundred years. Sometimes she says:
I was here
before, I looked in the forest but
you were still a seed of you, not yet,
so I waited. In my daughter’s
rock garden, today is water’s birthday,
the moon is closing his eyes
for a haircut, and my secret crown keeps
getting caught on birds. Sing
with your first tongue
my daughter, we can’t afford to be
human long.
