Cynthia Belmont

Now turned she-goat, all belly,
I heave against your restraining
fingers, barbed and necessary.

You with your lion's head roar
in me like a vanished twin,
the brains in this failed operation,

the teeth. In my sleep: our shared
tail thrashing silver-scaled.
You've disappeared

into the zoo my body alone
remembers — uncaged, roaming
city streets at night. I'm still

bristling, stray, headless
here without you, my half,
my sweet ghost fracture.