Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

she chirps
I will be sure to remove my shoes


does the bird know
the whiehw that a switch makes
as it falls through the air

   or the taste of a mote
   on the floor

where she spreads
stands still
on the weave a stain


boom and blast
intervene in this
finished repast

   they inform the bird's
   anguished ærodynamics

while the rest stand like notes
on a stave
in each bone a complaint


where the two coasts meet
a tear rolls down
the cheek of the sun

   the filament heats
   the world gets cruel quickly

as the bird tries to peck
in the mirror a speck
from the landscape distilled


I will not be here on that day
I trill