My beak is a knife in the heart of the moon,
my wings attack the stricken lake. The sky
a war-zone of feathers, I stake out what was
our territory, hiss at unwary passers-by.
This world has gone wrong. One reflection
where there must be two, the skin of the water torn
when I stab and stab again to look for you, forgetting
for an instant, knowing, wishing not to know
my own image in the grieving water. You
show me this. Look at us, you say, look at me in you.
This is who we are. This is how we live,
coming and going through each other.
My eyes turn silver,
our reflection in the sparkled water
and the moon, thrilled.