I was born to dark birds
hungry around the white
city of a ceiling fan
And heard wheezing traffic
outside my first ear
the steady throat of a barge
drinking waves within
a woman's breast; I had two ears.
Over a golden hill
I swept the light
from a city, dragged
words from its river
my first eye was the moon
a second was to be the sun
as she closed them both
and opened my umbrella
I learned to walk in the night
just before dawn with Philadelphia
And wondered about the rain
and smiled as dark birds
disappeared; I can still
hear them starve.
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