This Little Bird

and it was he who alighted

on her arm, a grubby crow who

cawed and brought her gifts of grass, while

she built a fragile nest of furs

oh, but the beaters drove her to

abandon all her eggs: mad as

a leather bound Ophelia,

she dwelt upon a broken wall

as crow circled, stealing lustre

from her golden songs and plumage,

until the rawness of her voice

and flesh revealed a nakedness

more true than beautiful, more like

a woman than a little bird