once she’s made up her mind, reality doesn’t matter

she can’t be swayed, little blue jay, she’s come unfurled

swath after swath after swath of undyed linen-

for bandages, for tourniquets, for blindfolds 

I know well enough to know what I don’t as well

as what I do, as few as few askew as it may

I know when it isn’t true

folds for blinding- knots for binding, such use 

for such unraveling, it breathes in and out 

as it waves in the wind- close and far apart again,

there are keys you used to play

within accordion pleating, they are missing

as a front tooth in a smile that’s grinning 

from ear to ear

clearly there, once, in a bygone year

there is a kaleidotelescope through which you can see

constellations, tenfold more than there are in the sky

multiplied glimpses of celestial light

between the patterned stars that change with a swivel

of an eye, it is pointless to cling to any one 

beautiful, fleeting, sight

nonetheless she engraves them within her mind

as full of wonder as she is with fear

she can’t be bent, my dear, she comes in twirling

dancing a dance we all know well, spinning even 

when we’re still

far away from now, there will be a tree

and its wood will be for writing, for swinging,

for swaying in the breeze