from Born

That September, we bury the placenta 
under the cherry tree
and wait for the blackest birds

to start singing. We wonder
which treasures will unown us 
first.  Come sleep, come love, 

come breath, come bramble. 
Come October, the wolves 
have returned to resurrect 

our howling. They circle 
the suburban block 
of our bodies until we call them 

in for dinner. I get down 
on my knees and beg 
to be bitten because teeth 

belong to flesh. Because 
the nights don’t end 
with sunrise, 

but when the crying
stops.              Hush-hush, 
here-here baby. Here’s the harpoon

and the hoo-ha and the helpless 
heart beating
everything it ever touched.