_____With wings like that,
______you'd think it would rise
______from the occasion. It could,
______you know, it's breasts made for flight,
______lift up from the sure conclusion, white feather fingers wide.
The man stands
before the stone--the blade is re-honed.
Dashes of red mark the man's sleeve,
heads lie to the left of the block.
The woman stands
before a large canning kettle,
sleeves rolled to her elbows.
The water boils; her face is flushed. The smell
of wet feathers and of open body cavities
wrinkles the womans face.
A warm bucket of entrails is at her right foot,
bits of down fly away--
stick to her arms, catch in her hair.