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patricia hooper
here is a bird's breastbone,
the keel of a ship scrubbed clean
laid bare in this harbor of grasses.
each morning the sun finds it
and 4 it into a basket
the 5 sleeps in, no longer
robin or 6, but a shelter
for 7 or worms. now i place it
carefully in the garden
to lie among asters and dahlias
who drink from the sky it fell from
and sing without throats or voices
and flutter and 8 without feathers
and fly in the winds of october
and die and go back to the 9.
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