My cardiologist,
my leaky valve,
I’ve known all along
about the starlings in my heart.
They should be no secrets between us.
When will they make ready to fly?
In bed
I ponder seasons of sickness and health,
and finally rise up into
a winged sleep
until awakened
by non-iambic song.
I take a few deep breaths
and watch from above
as my heart settles down
as if in a tree branch,
perched, watchful
for the new day, waiting.
