An indigo ex-goddess
to roost in my ribs
& warn my heart of waylaying:
the concept breaks
& beautifully enters me.
My own canary, my own mine.
Vagrant angel of
convalescence, you picked
the ornithology lab lock as if
it were a box’s last
match.
were so. Eyeless in this arsenic
dark, I ransack
floor-to-ceiling drawers
by index finger, over & over
pushing it under
irrevocably folded wings.
Among the nether-topographies
the spilling air
knew, nothing feels
blue. Among the terraces of always-
backdiving anklelabeled
specimens, I worry
I will not find her. Angel, this blindness
feels familiar. You say
she is a lake
the size of a barrette, but duller than
her brother. All
the females are,
I whisper. I am the loudest animal here.