Signs

Spin like this, the pinwheel, aflame in air,

whistled to me. This way to the water,

the half-drowned children sang, sopped,

hauled up blue. Crows screamed, laid siege

to the seeded field. Careful, the wind was careful

not to say, though I was born with a bubble

in my mouth: a harbinger, cardiac in nature. 

I will not be glib about this. I gripped her fist

and kissed her. I was implicated. O

weighty world, lush, relentless: amid

your blossoming conflagrations

I understood I would not avert my heart.