You are my lucky star.

My unmothered bird,

dropped from the sky

             like a millstone.



If you outlive the fall,

crawl from your crater

like the second coming,

             like the swell of new growth

after fire: just briars and briars

and briars.

Copyright © 2019 Lindsay Lusby. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Winter 2019.