A salmon is not a bird
but when I look up animal
medicine in
my two books, I fail
to remember

where each category is —
the flocks of feathered ones,
the scurry-stampede of mammals,
the waves of fish and other swimmers,
the swarms of insects in exchange with each other.

Circe
    will not rely on these books.
          She can not bother to
               think too much of
         the connotations
   of her gifted curse.
Meanwhile I
    keep feeling the fires
          my lover made for us
               those three nights,
          the flames
    flashing in my eyes,
establishing our memories.

The last time we shared salmon.