When did the storks arrive
ushered on the wind
along cloud streets?
They've settled on a puddle
in the street by the canal.
Someone has fed them
a side of salmon.
The mouse-grey woman
scrubs the toilet bowl
with a stiff brush.
She lives in the walls of the house.
They are her skin.
She never speaks till spoken to.
She says, I am content,
which is better than happy.
I've taken some salmon
as if it were a gift.
I eat it with my fingers,
fresh, raw chunks.
I do not feel
my fingers burn.
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