Order can be found here – in an open palm,
where pieces of life take the shape of reality.
There a smile lies off center, an ear sticks out,
plaited hair is windblown. I dissect anatomies
thinking something must be wrong to see only
wrong & swipe through the past till memories
dissolve to indistinct yet salvable moments – in my palm,
where I can deal the cards. The screen’s empty white
stamp fades & I can see a falcon as it comes
into focus, a palimpsest, on a window-sill throne,
layers of soft down, spindly claws, a silky black tail,
its russet feathers rustle in the wind until my clumsy
movement turns its head, owl like, from his hawk-eyed hunt.
Our eyes meet & I wonder if he sees me or only his reflection,
if he knows how with the change of a word, I have made him
real - created a he where none was before, out of the void.
It’s bikini season again
though the one piece is
trending like in ‘91 &
summer camp initiation.