by lauren lockhart
weeping,
the water drained from hawk’s belly
rolls down,
sweet like
milk in the sun
the stream collides with all three parts of my
mind and lulls the inflammation there into a
weighted peace.
It begins with the center-
my heart knows it is my organ
and my nest
it knows it is a borrowed comfort
like a sudden breeze through the window
amber liquorish root
shining in the glass