Originally, the zoo was built to remind usof our separation from nature.

There was no animal in the cage, just earth.

This reminds meof Tony’s mom’s suburban lawnin Madison, Wisconsin

overflowing withnative prairie grassand signs from the city that read“I am not insane.”

I keep the table in my closetquiet and empty so it’s likea cage of grass.

That’s where I write this poem now.It’s Labor Day. Last night, The Caribouwas rammed with laughing peoplenone among us awareof what a caribou really is—how it lives, eats, feels, sleeps, talks, or dies.

I drank rainbow cans of beercalled Montucky Cold Snackswith the astronomerI share a blue house with.

He uses a radioto map the Milky Way.

That’s the kindof speechless lifea person craves—where there is no cage

just ink and distance,

spots of light I won’tever understand andbeyond them the soft hairaround a black hole

remembering what it ate for lunch20,000 years ago—sometimes,me, too—my soft hair catchesthe smell of what I cook or burnand I walk around a recordfor a while. But I’m on a leash –presided over even when aloneby a voice in presidential moon bootsor the silk pants of a ringleader, controlledby the fragrant ticket takerwho sleeps in the boothin a chamber of my heart…