string theory
i once saw a fawn remove itself 
from the ripe olive 
of its mother’s womb; 
head, one leg  
first, griping saccharine flutes 
of shocked earth, 
hind legs broken 
as toothpicks, ensnared 
in the sharp mesh of afterbirth. 
you arrive in New York on a Thursday 
eyes bright  
as river stones; 
our fingers, yoked, like the legs 
of so many fawns, the coiled  
wire of a first breath,  
the grim metal sun  
biting the veins  
of saplings shut.  
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