& I knew
we’d have to die
many more times
& in many more ways—
on our hands, our knees,
our faces, our backs,
our stomachs—in mud,
in water, in shadow, & in light—
before we’d hear the word
“scene,” before we’d earn
the right to haunt anybody
save ourselves. Nobody,
as it turned out, would much care
for The Hunted,

Read it in Blackbird