Why are you weaving dark coils into your hair?
It's my reflection, the water is seeping through. Besides,
I don't have any feathers left to spare.
For every question, there is another ripple, punctured by thin limbs.
This is why I address myself to every question,
mapping the needle's course from water to air to water again,
until it is airborne, again.
I'm sorry.
I come out to breathe.
Just breathe in-out-in-out-in-
Standing by the water, I plunge my head in.
My eyes wander until they find the rim of the fish bowl,
out-in-out-in-
peering out from a pond within pond.
I don't take my eyes off of those glassy eyes until night.
I don't breathe
out-
at night.
For what? For doing what you did? For gouging-
I bank at the next arch and steer to the sharp left,
my claws arched and hurting with soft, guarded disgust.
Beak, claw, arch, steel…same thumping sound, same
swerving motion, against the direction
you are headed in.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm—
trying to wash out the stench of last night's journey,
as always, I journey my goddamned journey and I stretch those wings and I fly and I'm sorry but I'm not, you of all herons should know that I'm not,
can't you see I'm sorry, maybe it's best if I don't talk, just fly, just swerve,
just trace the rim of a fish bowl, ballooning its own shadow out in the open sea.
I dropped it there. I'm sorry.