They want to know what our daughter is doing—She’s pouring water from a stainless steel bowl into the marigoldsWhat are the bruises on her arms—What are the bruises on her legsIs that where the anger has gone—Now she’s rocking slowly in the chair, now looking through the northern meshAnd now the eastern—there’s the emerald ash—What part of her has she abandoned?The lonely?— or the hungry?She eats again—and drinks. She has a discernible body.She’s walking inside into the kitchen, pushing up the window—She’s walking back out she’s picking dandelionsWhere is her body?—Do you mean her mind?I mean the mind of her body— Her feet lightly graze the ground—she sits in the chair again,                   losing hair, bees whirring                   around her head…Everything else of her strains away—.—Never meant to have a husbandThat’s her thought you caught!—Hadn’t she been married before?To the Envelope of Emptiness?—Not so devastating as that, no—                   she married a Gingko Leaf.Shadows of grackles skim her face….—The ancestral pull can be fatal.By the second shadow she’ll have passed the flag—