The girl seems to fly
the hawk above her, a kite of feathers
and flesh and bones. She doesn’t feel
the invisible string in her hand
but must hold it. When she runs,
the hawk-kite sails with her.
When she stands still in the field,
he hovers above her, projecting
his shape like a haunting, an overlay
of feathers printed on her skin.
Wearing the black lace of another’s
shadow all the days of her life
changes her. The girl looks down
at her own pale arm and sees wings.