"Untitled," Aradhna Tandon
	Amy Miller Flood, 1986 The birds have traded places. The seagulls, bent kites veering toward the hills, are strangers. The sea is closer. Robins sway wet  in mockingbird trees. No one touches ground. No one walks the barefoot garden, the riddled mirror, once a forest of sunflowers. In the dawn, I hear the creek boiling brown water. Inside,  I start the kettle, wait for its watery cry.