Kristy Bowen, Radio Ocularia #5, 2012 (Artist Website)
Paper collage
After that
which wakes you up at dawn—
a woman screaming her dog’s name.
After that which leaves you
alone with the fawn in the bedded
grass, where maw dragged deer,
tongue lolled, and dog’s head bowed
in prayer. A pant. Blood anointed
the jaw. After that which feeds itself,
gator-mouthed, a sip of stillness.
That, when lifted, springs
its well, the sweet bowel smell
that carries you as far as the wild
irises. No further.