Made

By Wren Tuatha

We are made animals again
by whom — us with dominoes
and our love of setting them falling

we run in dimensions of thought
scattering to save our skins
from being ripped, remembering

it’s a package like litter, what the wolf
opens to get at our juice

we are ripe animals again

so long as we made god in our image
we could think ourselves gods

thin paper immediacy of the reveal
turns our animal stomachs