I used to believe
I had been preserved by something.
Now I think I am
the preserving spirit—with my leafy fragrance, sound of wings
in the canopy, blood
draining swiftly from the head
as I look up, neither host nor guest. Exile
speaking for one reason only,
and the reason is love.
Kathy Fagan, from “Forest,” Blackbird (vol. 16, no. 1, Spring 2017)