How to Hunt Black Swans
When Bryant came home from Hong
Kong he spoke with a saline growl
stuck halfway across his lower lip.
You couldn’t put your finger on that
experimental ripple of unsameness
but it was much like the time
Manuel trudged into the blacklight
foliage minus counselor or companions
and still found his way to your cabin.
It was much like the time you were
called out of class and told that Uncle
Jimmy fell and Grandpa could not
It was much like the time you inhaled
rice krispies and changed
the channel but they all showed
two smoke-weak giants
you could never visit.
Bryant resides in whatever sun-
scraped condo he can sniff out
while the rest of us stay
focused on the craters.
Such a scurrying moment takes
with it all calm: the first
cracked head of the treehouse
girl you pushed, the initiation
of that hornet sting.