I learn the word for willow tree.I learn the word for howl and keepit in my throat. the word for wolfcurls underneath my tongue. I havestudied pain this way—tucking itinto the folds of my body wheredarkness settles. I wonder aboutthe waking. the sunsplitmorning burns into orange peel—dappled heat. an extinctvolcano comes back to lifebut we aren’t told how we knowthe mountain has begun to stir. howstone yawns and spins hot intothe world again. I wish that I couldsay that I saved the mourning dove,but I can’t be sure. every bird diesa death—falls from the sky andsleeps. it is hard to banish this thought—​that everything wakes up and waitsfor living. for the word that namesthe blue color of a pale vein.who wouldn’t want to wake an ancientthing from the deepest sleep? whowouldn’t want to dig and find the still-wetblood of a long-dead fawn? a miracle,maybe, how the earth shudders beneathus. how we dance along the fractures.