|Oct/Nov 2019 Poetry Special Feature|
The elephants are dying. The paper said...
The Post, I think—anyway, I read it somewhere—
people like us are brewing
our virus in a Petri dish, filing the world
with our shit.
...and we're killing the elephants, I said.
I imagine souls of elephants as they cruise
across the Bardo of Elephants—indigo mothers dying
calves, brothers—all of them
dying single file.