Daily Practice

Out of the hollow and sheet 
                metal of me, daughters 
were formed— skin grafts, eye  
                color,  heat; predisposition 
to sugar and various forms of salt.
              Some tics; the body 
a length of itch and need; hearts 
              pulling in and out of
themselves like bandoneons.
              I listen to how air flutes,
moves through the reeds 
              in each box: fanning open 
and close, open and close. Still
            taut, clumsy at marking time;
but bent on getting it, getting it.