I Two-by-two animals crawled up my legs and inside my chest for the winter. Crows and hens began it-- scratched my lungs out of place, settling in. Deep in my belly bobcats nested and birthed a litter of kits. Goats knocked inside my thighs like my fat, kicking boys. And coyotes split my heart in a sumptuous two-way bite. Colder things took over toes while skittish bears stole my body's skull. II Housing the wild was harder than either fetus: they bounced bones with every step. But gathered in the clouds were the skirts of winter. III The body burrowed into bed-- fed on curds, raspberry tea, and bread. Set in a small puzzle, the animals slept until the first green fists of spring. Bears slipped free, then came the cats. Birds flew from my chest while toads and salamanders waited for rain--the last. I lay empty then, wrapped in soiled sheets. While I nursed the wilds, we shared something though I don't know what.