When I think of my body as a crow
We slide together:
my flesh, your feather,
your jet eye, the haw you draw across in sleep,
the patient keel of your sternum,
the steel of your rib
your beak to stitch the vane, the silken ley,
the tap of talons on glass,
the hollow bone that lends my shape,
your pulse of blood, smell of hot metal,
stash in the kettle,
the word you hold in your throat like an egg.