Just overhead, a hawk; a hawk so close I trace the delicate designs & patterns of an open wingspan with my eyes; a hawk with a prairie dog flailing in talons; what does anyone know really about beauty? A child, I wrecked a dirt bike with my brother; slid down three-fourths of a hill on bare legs; think all smiles & wind throughout; think what tear of flesh sounds like; he held my chin, don't look down. Even now, the asphalt still in fuse to my knee; pale blue under the sheen of skin; scar tissue twists in tributaries; a small river built in me; & in wonder too beauty peeks just below. My mother eats frozen cherries; bags of frozen cherries; the acidity cracks & sores the creases of her mouth; with sores she eats cherries; cherries until her jaw bogs from pain; wonder, think how something simple & cellular & storied; think shush shush; think deep red against her pale; think hawk or prairie dog? Story of you, cherry; or you, chin; or you, eyes of the prairie dog, wild.