you watch the bird
flap across the water
with two wings
and rise with one wing.
Often the unfamiliar
causes you to be driven
to things not included here,
to spots where earthmen
have landed to regain the fell
after the conglomerate hand
releases your body
like a bird with one wing.
You are a woman recovering
from being a woman
as if it were a serious illness;
next of kin
signs for you
and the madhouse
waits to cure you of yourself.
The mirror tells you
what you love and do not love:
the webs at the corners
of your eyes , the broken
wings of smiles.
The birds rise off the lake
with two wings
like matters of importance.
