Dear Jane,

By time you read, I will be barefoot, I.
You will find shoes you bought me
polished by front door,
but I have left by bedroom window
to go back to Africa by only trees.
I will find my elephant, my chimpanzee.
I will never touch ground again.

Please understand, Jane, I was never sad to learn for you
how to use spoon. I will miss bed,
how we made linens smell like moss.
I chose to live on ground for you, Jane:
Look how I cut hair.
How I do not eat your goldfish when I am hungry.
Look how I speak man now.
How I learned to whip your horses like you told.

I am not going back to jungle
because I do not love you, pale deer.
I return shoes to you forever
because a house cannot contain my love.
Do you remember fruit bats drumming moon?
How I laid you bleeding out on medicine leaves,
your body white as fast river,
and we fell asleep to mating song of frogs?
This is how I love you.
How can I explain this, sitting in chair?
How do I say this, but in kill-cry from roof?

For year, we swept floor, we made church.
I did not bark when dog barked.
I made me human for you, I.
But you never Africa for me.
I made myself fireplace for you, Jane..
But you never burned like dry season for me.
When neighbors called me black thing because
I eat for hunger, because will not whip butler,
you laughed like butterfly fallen in soup.
Kissed me like buttoning top button.

I brought jungle in hands to you, I.
You folded it into napkin.
I learned to apologize, I.
You never screamed like leopard in heat
or even let bad magic word bloom from lips
like exquisite corpse-flower.
Even your horses know to be wild if leave gate open.
If you could learn to bite through skin,
or walk naked in house with windows open,
or let breath stink with too much sleep and meat,
I would know you understand love.
Lover should not need to learn how to use fork.
Lover should learn to eat raw flesh
of just-killed lion with fingers.
That is love. It is savage thing.
It eats snails off ground to survive.
Love kills only what it needs.

I have taken knife, only thing you did not teach me to use.
I was human, for a year.
Now I am all animals again, together.
Cannot stay where I frighten canary with laughter.
Cannot be full man if you keep you woman locked in corset.
Still, I will miss you from treetops
when moon rises like fever on our wedding night,
last time you spoke jungle to me.
It is a strange place, this house of human heart.
I am glad we are both left it now
to live where we always belonged:
howling into night that always hunts us,
suffering exquisite wilderness.