In the injured region, that is, inner thighs  *  we try binding

the mouths of wounds  *  Forgotten  *  the many scrapes of claws  *  

She didn’t want to be alone, nor tethered  *  if deserting

were quicker than decomposing, when all that remains are

margins, how to lift depressions  *  to swing a piece relative

to another, a combination of hinge

and nails  *  She just needed something to hang

from wood, a stalk and other wrongs, a procession of flaws  *  as if our fins

our genes analogous  *  when we outgrow

ourselves, a divide within which everything

depends, a greater area for corroding  *  collagen  *  in higher animals

the long bones of legs bow under  *  What she was built for, attachment

ignored  *  a sail to a stay  *  a plate written only, bound

at the heart  *  and pleated  *