Cockatiel
Wild for it to end
in a public park’s gravel lot the white crest
fanning out on its own eyes alive with ants
it was not there
when we unfolded canvas chairs placed them upright
in the shade invisible insects stinging our ankles
as we laughed unpacked our takeout containers
arranged them on a block-printed Indian bedspread
a reminder of college when everyone was more or less
a hippie the flickery joy of those days
down the hill a teenage party girls in full sun in neon
halter dresses mylar balloons tied to waists
I am sorry I saw the pale yellow body
on our way back to the car so incongruous
it set loose my own unbelonging
and I felt the ground shift
had I passed by earlier I could have saved it
the day could have been different
View From Another Planet
Of course a night such as this must have two moons
alabaster-pale as hollowed steer horns, the snow line
vanishing around the perimeter of the heated city, skyline
vaulting like Oz from open fields. In my head I walk
its streets, brick facades still warm from sunset.
I do not try to look as though I know
where I am going. I am not brisk. I am not catcalled
from the shadows. My insides relax like a hammock.
I go where I want to go.
