Her arrival is compounded with animals. She doesn’t know this and I don’t care. She will see the blood on their ears and ask questions I won’t answer. I will spin, make my voice a song and blur the air between us with color. She will follow me in a rush to love, her eyes bright. Like she did before. Like she did when she didn’t know anything but what we gave to her.
When she comes, I will hug her in the driveway until we are covered in snow, until we rot apart. I want the neighbors to call the cops, all the walked dogs to piss on our legs. I want to embrace her long enough for them to build a low fence around us, erect a placard that explains why we are still there; I cannot explain things I do not have words for, plus, my mouth will be in her hair, heating up her ear, her neck.
One day we will topple, but not now, no, not now.
