I feel the lion
near the black pine trees.
Sometimes walking on the road
before the eyeshine in darkness
I can tell it is
walking just before me,
cutting across the field
toward the dog and goat.
I feel it with the naked eye of skin,
the fine hair, the animal trappings of my body
begin to rise, a beast remaining,
and there is a feeling, too, of awe and respect,
and, yes, remorse
for our kind who have tried to reach heaven,
learn a universe
and found stars that swallow light,
that bounded darkness is a matter
between light and broken light,
and we don’t even know
the animals that walk outside our sleep
yet we have traveled there so often
there are not so many of them now
where light falls across the hunting grounds
we call a world that’s small
because we’ve matched it to ourselves
and with all the lies we tell ourselves
so we won’t see the world collapse
but when it does
but from what is never seen.