I‘ve memorized its heart pounding into my thumb.
     Breath buoys out. My fingers know how to kill，
     closing on the bird‘s slippery head.
     I don‘t remember. Was it that beak bit my chin？
     Was it a claw cut my wrist？ I blow feathers
     away from its chest， smelling pennies and rain.
     Skin like granite， a real white-blue， flecked
     by knots of new growth. I found my need，
     cold in cupped palms， just the way I was taught.
     I return to account for whose neck falls around
     backwards. Eyes that go cataract bring clouds.
     That fat pearl with wings looks like water disappearing in me.