Furniture of the World

Seeing birds flush, you fall to your knees.
You couldn't eat a hazel grouse for what

you make of it: the soft berth of your own
great reliable outcome. Configured, yourself,

out of the quiet blood of beasts, you could be
conducted on a little cord held by a child.

Suddenly, you have the mildness of a giraffe
with its discrete, unrequited interest in other animals.

Kathy Nilsson
Boston Review
May / June 2006

Copyright © 2006 by the Boston Critic, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

REMEMBER TO SUPPORT POETRY DAILY'S GENEROUS SPONSORS... Sponsor PD!