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Sentinel


ISSUE:  Summer 2010

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.

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