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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