She arose 
and dressed 
as she did 
most days,
readied herself--
she was the space 
in the mirror--
the girl
whose name
you can't remember--
she was proof
of someone
else's life.

To say that the white ducks
look just like angels
stretching their wings
in the new, dawn light
might be a romantic notion,
but it's true, they do,
and the smell of shit
in the yard confirms
that this is heaven.