Sirius

by Cara Benson

Surprise of a wing tip
                                to a cheek—
                                              we shall unveil not (yet) no
                     bird     no shoe     no angel
                                                . The hood flutters            the apple
                                                                            squeezes upward
                                              (this is a ceiling moment).

One must lie
                                                  backside down, arms
                                      tied in a bow              pillow,
             to imagine the incidence.

                                Go on,
                             close your eyes. Let the dotted stars of experience
                                                                                              splay
                                                                                          you.