They call it ballistic trauma this hole in him.
There are words like migration and lodging
When a bullet moves through the body stops
And stays like when he comes home like that.
On the television news they are trying trying
To plug up the oil leak all that oil gushing out
Like blood from a wound like this and like this.
And I dress it in my mind as I dress myself
Wrap my mind around it and its endlessness.
And I think about all the birds and the people
And even him migrating around with nowhere
To lodge and nowhere to go but back back again.