i. upon touching the oak-head my father said to me, “woman // a woman!” & i shuddered to know i had changed in his eyes. my feathers drooped in the thick oil of his proclamation
a vision echoed black glaucous, indigo, & black again: i swayed & he did not stretch out his hand.
ii. on the seventh day i was prepared for swirling waters too gleeful, too vicious for night. they settled gelatinously in the divots of my plucked, weeping skin & i felt i was beautiful
at last
iii. keep // your hand // from my throat. // who does not crave the voyeur?
iv. i departed with raw body & limbs aloft, breasts raised, my flightless shadow cried out, “satisfy me // i am torn!” & god opened his ear to her
v. my deep plumage was sewn onto a satin slip reserved for her to flaunt & she preened in front of flat eyes which pacified, somehow her desire to be seen
vi. such is the functionality of man the thrush by which sight is fulfilled;
vii. that god might, on occasion, rest his tired eyes.
conception scene | fig. 3, form ii.
Your sadness is tired. Have you learnt to estimate the swallow and swallow, I wonder
