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The Lonely Animal
- University of Illinois Press
- Chapter
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45 The Lonely Animal I visited the animal I visited it in its hole I visited it till the dawn when it sunk its razor teeth into the dawn’s throat, tore, and the sky began its spill of blood I visited the animal I ran down the hillside of wet grass and found it where it lived It wasn’t sleeping (for it never slept) It stayed awake all night soundless and still I visited the animal without a sound I visited the animal by day I brought it twigs and ferns It lashed the branches with a lanyard woven in and out; it perched upon its bramble throne It folded closed its sanitary paws, its paws scrubbed clean down in the cold waters of the stream I scrubbed with the animal, scrubbed at the stream scrubbed away the bits of dirt scrubbed my matted fur, scrubbed the goblet gilt in gold, the shard of pottery wedged into the earth; for everything must be cleaned and readied for the ritual of tears I drank with the animal, from the gilded goblet from the cold and flowing stream where a single goldfish swam: a bright and sudden flash as quickly gone. The lonely goldfish cries 46 and its own tears stick to it like sparkling pins that make it shimmer, like it wears a shawl of diamonds I cried with the animal in midday over the water while below the lily pads gently swooned and shuddered I cried swooning with the animal as the evening fell like autumn leaves as the moss grew damper, deeper and more still Quiet I watched the animal cry into its goblet I watched it catch each sliding tear as carefully as liquid gold and together they pooled and made a surface where I was not reflected, where the animal could watch itself crying, crying, crying— ...