An ebullient, sparkling bird I am
On my toes, pinning about the wooden house,
Curling and placing each golden strand
As a game or ritual to become full again
He comes to string me up as lights
The things I ask are of “what does this mean?”
For his, he gives “to create our world, I need light to see.”
I force the door with wool wrapping my feet,
As if he’d ever hear my racket
Before his body felt it