MEMORY
I step outside
and inhale the earth
with its blue echoes.
I lift an orphan
from a crowd of crows
and carry her like an urn
of sweet water.
In the distance
the brown rhythms
of farm workers hunch
in a field of flowers
gather the last light
into the basket
of their arms.
I am worn from the inside
like a pocket. Wandering
in circles, I make dancers
of the birds,
weaving the wind
with wings and words
that refuse to shake
the earth from their skins.