at the Women's Library

it's been all Joni Mitchell
since Saturday,
my head
walks me out
the building
this lunchtime

starlings wing-busy
overhead
a huddle
of black ties
outside a funeral parlour

between
the air
and clay
underfoot
is the heart's beat

pumping my mind
on a loop

I know no one's going to show me everything
We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone

I lift my head
and I am at the Women's Library
and no-one is there
just this sign
on a fence

I see
the reach out
for connection
the space
between touches
the unknown
face of God
in the pattern
of a chain-link
fence where

a starling lands
and sings
the breadcrumbs
of the street.