For, the lady must sit on the egg that will hatch;
a bird’s days pass this way for months.
If she rises even once, a dead bird will result from this love affair.
It isn’t easy to prolong love affairs that have resulted in a death.
So, the lady albatross tries her man out for six months.
The vow of commitment is made six months later, in bird language.
Still, the lady albatross passes her days and nights
in reflection, in sadness—
it isn’t easy for a bird to love the one she needs,
for such a free creature to turn her heart in to captivity.
Yet, she must give her bird heart to a man
who can feed her, who will return after leaving.
The man must be worthy of this humiliation of her freedom.

The lady albatross turned her other eye toward me.
This chapter of the story was unlike the first.
When the baby hatched, the love affair would end.
She would have served the earth,
and thus end her game of dependence.
The vow would be broken, and the albatrosses choose two separate paths
for new loves.

This was the best way not to diminish bird hearts with lies;
both of them knew this with their other eye. For, albatrosses
cannot narrow their wide wings.

Reductions of hearts and wings always end
in the death of a bird.

Albatrosses write only the beautiful on their wings:
when the beautiful is over, they leave.
So, these birds have the widest wings in the sky.
Since they don’t gather their feathers to enfold them,
it is they who best understand the wind.
If there is a wind that won’t settle, it is written in their hearts.

As wings would narrow if they tolerated shrinking nests,
albatrosses always fly toward new vows.
They don’t cry when the vow has expired.
Crying constricts wings.
So, the albatross has the widest wings in the sky.
Perhaps only the wind understands their state of affairs, too.

The lady albatross closed her eyes. Just as I was about to ponder
the meaning of all this, the male albatross returned.
They had clearly agreed that I’d spent enough time in their nest.

He held, again, the most painless part of my flesh,
and led me through light beams.
I had just gotten used to flying… Between floods of sunlight
and the softest edges of clouds… When I started to fall,
I realized that my path had hit the water.

The river opened its arms to me.

III. FLIGHT

The Explorer Contemplates What She Has Seen

Flight

During my long flight, before falling into the river, I reflected. For
I was nowhere. Not even in the air. Just as I’d reach the air,
I’d move a little farther down. I reflected: this was a good place
for reflection. For, I wasn’t anywhere.