freeze to death, one by one.

I cover my ears with my hands

and listen

for the birth of the word,

for who I am.

I walk around

with eyes like open cages

to trap the bright parrot,

the country inside me.

Three steps forwards, three back,

repeat, repeat. I want

to circle the world with my tracks,

circle and circle again.

I rise, weightless, then fall.

The clouds feel damp and feathery

as my mother’s new curtains.

A sour taste is in my mouth.

I stand like a lamp beside the bed

and at the violent touch of warm hands

or the laser-sharp

glance of loving eyes,

I recoil like a gun

and words squawk into the sky

like startled crows.

Silence! Enough!

I lasso one –

and on my head

and in my head

the whole sky falls!

I begin.

I write the crow music

on the stave of the telephone wire.

Simple words squawk in my mouth,

and I co-ordinate and subordinate

and make them complex.