Armadillo
       

Deep in the unlit palm scrub, a rustling
  wedded to the ground and me with my
sorry light searching. Armadillo, half
  blind, not yet stupid with fear, tough-
skinned like my heart which whispers
  through its sack at the sight of you: I am
feeling small and unlikely myself. This
  is about what I cannot know. It's about
you, who are beautiful, and a god if there can
  be a god. I have many questions. If I find
I must speak, I swear I'll turn my light off.
  I'll ask about the world, but do it softly.

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Copyright © 2012 Renée Ashley All rights reserved
from Edison Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission