Golden Shovel, After Sibylle Baier

—for Sanna, jaye, Leslie, Chim, Nicole, Aaron, Cooper, Canisia
Not the animal. Not the evidence, but its assertion, where

	                         hoofbeat, unsettling the lone grasses, is

              succeeded by hump, the memory of musculature it

   draws taut over the bowleg of its body.   How to name that

			                         heavy undertaking          that fills

the brain with its capaciousness?                   Not bison. Not the

                   		                 the footing which forgets the deepness
			   		                   of its height. I—
my unmountained languages—cannot name that which is lost

			                         I put my pen to describe something

and come out with pinions.           Deer flank. Osseous atrium. In

                  a field folded by fastness, her feet run furthest from the

error.  The hunter set their sights on mountains. Fugitive in the hills.