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