Life is an Eagle with Paint on Her Mind

The inevitability of a scarred life, 

  your pulse, stitches,
             this palace of breath.

I listen to the rain

hitting the gravel walk

below my window eyes.

the night is cut 

by a thumbnail moon,

punctured by the whistle of trains.

my movements are magnified,

and I still dream 

of her body

as a thin-nest boundary.