light ended between two oak trunks a breath caught
sharply drawn because I can’t speak can’t say the bird
over there with beak like knife like tongue is
broken cannot fly I call out in song and blade
I resent the ground this bird this one is you and your arms are
bent the wrong way and I did that to you and you
are lying on your back and the city sinks like shoulders under water
under the faucet and can the heat of you undo the knots in my back
in my shoulders I am twisted I am bent the wrong way and
the night is full of hands clasped palm to palm holding
the light of eyes of flight of lampposts holding on because
I do not want to fly anymore to release to open my fingers
to end