u/Disastrous_Pay8108

I salt The Raccoon
in the name of preservation and damnation.
The bones on my winter’s road and in my streams must make me a cemetery.
“I take only what I can hold and not a corpse more,” I plead,
gorging my soil with fleshy bellies full of trash.
O the warps in my mantle, the chunks of crust upheaved,
snaking through my settlement, from what I can perceive.
He’ll come again, the old Raccoon.
I’ll kiss His head as I always do,
and trace his eyelids and offer my breast
and cry “no nurture, no bloom.”