new neighbors 

i was a binocular child.
i wanted to see the seam where
the sky met the earth. i take things
apart to love them. stich by stich.
once, i gutted my favorite stuffed animal. 
i filled her with hair & she came alive.
the new neighbors have so many cars
i am convinced they are rich.
either that or they are in trouble.
i don't know how much looking
is too much. my partner tells me
that i have a problem with staring
but i think i am just trying to take
an apple-flesh bite out of the world.
i don't understand the neighbors. 
they come & go like pigeons. 
i have never heard them playing music
or laughing. this is where i miss the city
where someone always had a folding table
out on a porch or a cigar full 
of cicada wings. we all crawl into the sky.
we all crawl down from the sky.
i get their mail by accident sometimes.
it's only bills or junk mail. i know that
one of their windows has string lights 
in it & i wonder what a portrait
that makes of our yard. we live on a weird street
where no one tries to know each other.
if the neighbors are watching me
like i watch them they might witness
me shapeshift one night when 
the air is right. i wonder how they would
make sense of my deer body & my antlers.
i hope that maybe they might join me.
if we cannot be human together than maybe
we could be animals. it is so strange 
how distance means something different 
to each person you meet. these bodies come
& go & come & go. smoke outside the front door
by the porch light even when the nights
are this cold.