You no longer let me perch on your arm

— Xue Tao*

No one, nothing, yes, you

once tall, your blues riveted

on outstretched arms, no

longer in residence, living

and dining rooms intact, no

longer

do avocado trees let

go fruit still to

ripen in 20th century clime, me,

ensconced, somewhat caged, half free a perch

flapping her wings from

steadying ground while our eyes shift

on beginnings black gold red

my arm, your

invisible arm.