“Because words dazzle in the dizzy light of things and the soul is like an animal–hunted and slow– this buffalo walks through me every night as if I was some kind of prairie and hunkers against the cold dark, snorting under the stars while the fog of its breathing rises in the air, and it is the lone…”— Steve Scafidi, apmpodcasts.orgTagged: Poetry, Buffalo, Grass, womb, joke