She lay in tatters now, her liver in tatters,
Though flocks of birds tried to sew her, reassemble her,
Using bits of string from their defunct autumn-nests,
Weaving in lavender and mint to keep pests out,
Feathers and string which became her body,
Her body whose surfaces
I had so longed to break through,
Tapping along the exterior,
Listening for a hollow place to excavate--
Her body upon which had once been inscribed
That ghostly braille palimpsest
Which I had tried for so much of my life to translate,
Feeling it wispily, with paper fingers,
As she lay beside me in the red moonlight.
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