There is a bird flying into my chest!
When I wake in the morning, it curls back, ruffles
as I brush my teeth. It swirls
into the lunch-room, hungry for my name. Still,
it canters into the windshield as I drive, breaks its neck
to see me. Again,
there is a beak, eyes locked—
a blind bird not knowing. Both of us
whirled in madness, being here, separated.