I’m your warm den in the winter, shady thicket in the summer. I’m nipping at your heels and licking your throat. The ends of my fingers feel among the sediment for traces of you. I’m the one sniffing your ass. I play dead until I’m chasing after you at twenty five miles an hour. You’re the carcass I feast upon and vice versa. The trees you climb are me. I’m the bare-chested natives of every place on your map. I’m your camera man and your British narrator. I’m your dying rain forest. I’m the volunteers who save your kakapo from extinction and the cats I kill to save myself. I’m the hunter-gatherers of your jungle. I’m the rain.