No use saving the obit, clipped like the hurt
wing of the parrot I found in the cocoa. Before
we knew, the feathers grew back and phow! bright
streak and Jacot out the yard. Was you gave it leave?
Newsprint crumples around my name more swiftly
than your faces around the table.
No setting my plate, please. No cutting my shape
from every bolt of shadow that flutters |