Victoria Chang

What if we are birds?Does that mean we also standon wires, tenderly, weightless.Are we in front ofor behind the red-tailed hawk?The last bird must watch us die.

It is winter butthe poets are still coming.I once lived in atown where there were no poetsor children. The treeswere made of salt. When the windshook, nothing happenedbut daylight. There were no handssince there was nothing to take.