Flocking

A bird is a bending
of rules that I broke

feathers that can’t be
                                 unfallen
bones that can’t be
                              unhollowed

a swallow
a wren, and then—
a thrush

a thrill
and still

you can’t go back
into the egg
re-wet your wings

a bird is the old broken
world that I bent

a whorl: anything shaped like a coil
a curl, a girl, a whirl,
a whippoorwill
until

after words
the birds
come

on yellow feet to feed
on the cracked 
and crumbed.

_