Woman With A Crow

week-old white fish sewn under the first cloud
the sheer sun alights on its back
runs through the thick air
breathless into shadows
those shadows the faceless crow

gives up its head to the cradle
her giraffed fingers like cables
tall as pools sticking the balloon sky

the woman with a crow
Picasso that day in 1904
suddenly aware what it's like
to be a woman in her giving
birth dies

his anger hoists her shoulders up
his grief transforms her hair to rock
her ears are delicate shells with ash ground in
her eyes stare at the crow's heart
a black moving ball to make peace with

it's filled in with plain blue
her wrists are neither tiny nor substantial
the lips inside the crow's feathers by an inch
are talking like two women talking
as through a door garbed in panther skin & veils
hold on to cats babies & she-crows
planted plainly in front of a tired light