A woman who worked all night
wears her green hairguard
to eat and smoke where a creek
slides past the turkey plant.
Her good eye swivels and tears
while the bad eye meditates
on surfaces—light scattered
to thistles and amaranth.
Beauty hurts her. Trees tip
their leaves to the changing brightness,
eager as weeds. The woman
catches her shadow
sneaking out to the street again,
shamed, hiding its face.
The willow tree instructs her:
its bark, sculptured branches,
leaves like soft ropes.
She sees they are strong,
flexible, doing their work.
Anything might step forward now
and ask to be her teacher.
