my Brown self
goes on four paws
supple-twining in the
lewd Gloom
arching against the
shaggy hedges
with a relishing Purr
tasting among his
spurted fur
the Ripeness
brisk and willing
of his brown body
yawning Obscurely
glittered-glancing
couching himself
in the sunny places
beating his tail
where traces
of She-odor make
a pattern for
his unbrained thought
feeling the Budding
thorns in his
feet of felt
planning to Stab them
into the wincing pelt
of a creature smaller
my Brown self
a thing gleam-jawed
goes downright
Four-pawed
May
Swenson
Nature: Poems Old and New