Trajectory
Trajectory
After spiraling twice
it exits the barrel,
the spent day exposing
a flame that propels it.
The bullet, spinning
to maintain a shallow arc,
carves a hot thread
through the wind
until it breaks one hair
and the deer’s neck
splashes open.
Before the heart beats
the bullet unfolds
a plowing lead point
then again is in flight
wobbling from its passage
through the deer.
Its peeled-back body
comes to rest in the soft trunk
of a poplar to stick out
like a button. When I press it
all the leaves fall.
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