I am paralyzed
by her black black sewing
stitching me carefully in a case of
artificial sunlight and sodium.
Needles pierce me.
I used to fly.
I used to breathe.
Now I am hollow
and my blood flows somewhere else,
in a distant desert with babies
floating down my ruby stream in baskets.
See how butterflies here bring Dawn,
a wondrously big woman with her hands on her hips?