Dot in the Sky

C.L. O'Dell


I heard time settle like a new house inside you. 

I listened to a carpenter slide his square

across a board of flesh, laying out the rafters

to someone else’s heart, and when the baby

felt the wind fall into the sun on her back

she thought for a moment, she was growing wings,

or was it losing them?  I couldn’t tell.

After all, where is the silence within silence,

fetal and unbroken like a walnut?  The kind that,

once born, can only survive in water, or shock,

the way a crow dissolves like ice in the dark

while in fear, prays for morning’s warm white sheet,

where shadows replace mirrors, and absence

gets all the attention.