Meg Cowengently released at close range (oil and pastel over black-and-white photograph)

The bird bled past the shed lay yawning
halved peach mouth to the light

the beak the bird the fox bled gaped
weed strangled, petalled

by mandible, a sound less
steel daffodil the fox forgot

They say shame is a soul eater
foul water where the body used to be

They say shame is not for dying
but hiding, the fox’s art

I wanted to feel
what was hidden

At the sun bristled mouth—
I put my bare fingers in


Sara Biggs Chaney