lay me on the table and remove

the child whose feet walked up my belly

under northern stars    to kiss the fish

at new year    lay me on the table

and remove the child

born under southern stars    the summer bird

arrowing between green waves    lay me on the table

take out the lens of one eye

and unfold the polymer wing

of another    so that light bounces in

to the dark camera    even underwater

or walking out to the point    lay me on the table

but save the little house where my children kicked

unless there is no other way    lay me on the table

take out the other lens and land another wing

where it will show me fish in the window

of a translucent wave    the swallow diving

to kiss the surface of the water

half river and half incoming sea

for I have need of all these    the dark and the light

their eyes and mine    waiting in rooms close by

and far away    lay me on the table

I am not afraid and wish to see the stars again