A Moose Breathes Onto My Palm
In the painting, a rabbit
is riding a moose
or perhaps a reindeer. I’ve never been good
at identifying large mammals. Most of the known
universe eludes me. The rabbit grasps
its reins confidently. Sometimes I’m good
at grasping, sometimes at letting go.
The sky’s blue suggests
dusk, and the moose’s — let’s say
it’s a moose — darker blue pelt, midnight
or Prussian, suggests reverie. The rabbit is as white
as a real rabbit. In real life
my skin is tan or pink
or something like cream, depending. I would like
someone to imagine me
not riding but leading
a calm animal in a blue painting.
I would like someone to imagine me
as excited as this rabbit,
as joyful. I would like to hold my hand out,
feel the moose exhale
onto my fingertips in quick snuffling snorts,
feel its thick mammalian tongue
nuzzle corn from my palm, blue corn
from Arizona or New Mexico,
my warm cerulean palm.