She was a small singing bird, a young wren
you caught in your hand and felt her heartbeat.
You chose two rings, one for her foot and then
one for your hand. She fluttered like green wheat
beginning to sense the wind, not ready
for ploughing. She flew into the bush and
when you came for me, I saw your greedy
eyes still alighting and smelt the ring band
on your finger. While we were arguing
the two rings fell from your pocket like crows
at a wedding, the giving and wearing
intentional as double knots, zeros,
the two rings plural and not singular,
irreducible in kind and number.