I hunted the burrows — periscope down
in the dirt, claws scrabbling
snatches of water, of laughter.
Turned down abandoned run,
past old nests — some memory?
You can’t know what’s there, she said,
not without equipment.
Don’t go alone.
This brackish shadow — where
the child, tugging — where the child, laying eggs —
where the child, who will bring you further,
I hunt for remarkable.
I hunt inside statements, I hunt
for live running meat, blood, cut cut black.
what will not startle.