After the second time they took you
from me, Lydia, I went into the attic and drove nails
upward through the roof
to keep the vultures from roosting. But when you returned
to me as the sheen of light on an egg yolk, you asked
that I forgive what they’d done, so I went back
into the attic and pulled the nails out again.
After the apple was picked, you said, the crooked branch
it had grown from—with bark
the color of charcoal—was cut down, and a scavenger
made from it, to reclaim all matter to God.