each morning,
spangling the lot
on sidewalks, at crosswalks, across the new campus
as if grackle stanchion, as if peppered stage
A fruit forms; the flower of a plant
Seeds, an exhalation. Who eats these seeds, darns a new sloping pile
I think to identify: not ungulate; sizeable; daring
Night eater under rolling clouds
what fruits–prickly pear
a gnash slalom
eating the seeded thing
whose seeds speckling
flick of joy,
whose shiver
O, steeling heart at the verge
O, separation from the body
Give me an economy of digestion
a likeness to shit with abandon
O, let the night still be empty and the edge of the parking lot no longer nibble the desert
Brita Sauer graduated with an MFA and is now a librarian at New Mexico State University. She has worked in libraries throughout New Mexico and is interested in the intersection of collection and ecology. She has work published and forthcoming on poets.org, Plant-Human Quarterly, The Bullshit Anthology, The Listening Eye, Gone Lawn, Landfill and a short film shown at the Feminist Border Arts Film Festival.