— after Ross Gay
not a wing though I fly
not a mouth though I sing
hail makes me a drum
my many pieces pierced
strung from a hub
hung from a hook
screwed into a porch beam
fence rail, flagpole, bird feeder
where any breeze swings me
forces me to sing
in tones the leeward wind chooses
glass, metal, wood, tile, stone
anything able to survive the banging
string strong enough to last the weather
leather or fish line, rope or knotted twine
sing & dance
not footloose but footless
not heel & toe but wheel
& what French calls sault
I’m swept off my missing feet
twisted into braids
spun, tangled, shorn
shattered on planks
shards flung at the kitchen door
on quiet days I hang in place
accumulate charge
leaves plaster my planes
hummingbirds hover at reflections
overloaded honeybees rest
my shadow moves from west to east
loses itself in dusk’s looming
I hang in dark where a bear might walk
my jangle breaks the night
startles an owl, flushes a bat
months after hanging
my strings are stretched
my profile’s changed
evolved from design
to weather & wind’s engineering
someday someone will take down my remains
collect what's not missing
jam me in plastic to throw away
if I end in a landfill
some child will find a chip of me
call me treasure
carry me along for life
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