I want to grow this body into a world, to have my own orbit, to figure out how

to live somewhere farther. This morning I found a dead mouse on my walk

to school, the small body curled into a half moon at the base of a tree sprout

-ing from the sidewalk. I sat down on the ground next to the small

 

animal. I considered its paw, its small claws, what little it knew

of the ground it laid on. You know, a mouse can rear its little body

down and launch itself almost ten inches into the air—such little sinew

and muscle yet so much power—I wonder what the little thing

 

was jumping for this time. If it made its way up, up to the second story

balcony above me. If it looked to the sky, saw those little pockets

of light and thought about making a new home in one of the tiny

holes. I wonder if it looked back, told its mother don’t worry, I’ve got this

 

and launched like a rocket. I wonder how the cool air felt against its graphite

grey body, if it went on impact, set like the moon against the night.