Born by Lee Herrick

I was born in an ocean of poor magic near a songwriter with stories

but no maps, strung out on local wine and rice.

I was born because the magic and the birds were certain they'd seen me before.

There were no gasps or hands clapping nor arias or sobs. I was there

on the grass, a full head of black hair, eyes that asked, will you say a little more

a curiosity that became desire, then death, then desire again.

— Gardening secrets of the dead by Lee Herrick (Page 57)