my recovering lungs,
this Lewiston sunrise after rain,
the 2 lopsided apples sitting
at my desk, the lips
I painted this morning,
and after having found
the Audubon calendar
stuck on March, I turned
the page to find
the outstretched wings
of the roseate spoonbill,
whose legs, even in flight,
seem grounded, whose face
only her hungry child
could love, and whose nest,
for all intents and purposes,
must look as if it's blushing.
