CONCEPTION

waiting for bread, the people are in silent lines
beyond the old paper on the walls and light in

from the balcony opening out
                                   of this bombed out room

the birds bored through the wall
persistent in our bare-limbed sleep
          hundreds of them funneling
          into the grey mattress beneath us

          wind and white feathering
          that tried to lift when we threw back the cover
                         (it was not of us)

four edges left intact—imagine us, then
the way we rolled to the side and watched.
                                                            the mattress, ready for rupture.

          and the knowing that we slept, that we made love
          on the moving bodies of birds

a m y   r a t t o
m i s s o u l a ,   m o n t a n a

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