The low, chuffing calls of deer
in the bog are like a man
grinding his teeth, steadily into the face
of a megaphone. The call of birds.
A conversation, the garble. The suction
and pop of a leg pulling up
from the bog’s thick mouth. Upon close
examination, spiders look like scorpions
when climbing a fence. In the end, they
each have their legs.
In the end, the calls are all of these things—