The elephant in the room has your eyes.
They crinkle at the corners
when he laughs, like
a sound from a wrinkled time
could grasp my attention.

I swept my hands over his ears
for shouts would split their leather,
shudder bristles.
He showed his tusks,
confused. I backed away,
gulped air like a fish.
Tried to tell him I’m no poacher,
pressed his beauty to him like a star.

He waved his trunk hopefully
but my pockets were full of dust.
His eyes are the loveliest things,
full of muddied stars.
I can’t look at them any more;
I’ve been talking to the zoo-keeper.