surrounded by bellies,

distended and growling like wolves

in the shadows of forest

artifacts who whispered his name into his heart

under suspicion of treason

against ancestors who emerged from dirt to warn him,

wrapped around a piece of paper

that was never worth more than a piece of paper

on the floor, where all living things

should choose to die

or in the sun, his name mispronounced

and misspelled by people he invited into his home

larger than the wingspan of the great bird,

greater than the foundation of the earth

under coughing skies gathering storm

clouds like eggs from nests of sleeping giants

with his ears overflowing lies, his tongue chaffed

with wishes, his fingernails rooted in dirt

with the blood of remoteness on his forearm,

having reached up to try and save a stillborn child

and it took days to get word to the indebted,

who worked that afternoon until sundown