At the Museum of Natural History

You kissed the little girl
who shares these thick
frames, now clouded
with your skin oil.

Particolored moths,
pinned,
looking the most alive (their
wings are still dusted).


A stuffed kodiak bear,
still hazardous.
Looming,
head-sized paws
stupidly reaching.

Something ceremonial:
a headdress for a wedding...

What implores you to stay here?
I have been here myself
all my life,
her
then me,
like wooden nesting eggs
behind glass.

Pitch

I was only
told
of the last shape he took.


Paws outstretched,

sunning lifeless
on one side in a
clearing
of trees.

Fur unmatted,
legs un-
broken.
Only a drop of blood
creeping from the side
of his cat
mouth.

Death
with a pellet gun,
aimed steady.

Startling,
the way a flashlight is
to a frog
in our creek bed.