Starlings at the Windows

(For freedom of the press)

The drive back 

from Kaliningrad,

a mirror-world of image,

removed from the wreck,

gates enforce constructs

we levitate above the marsh,

or worse, we must carry

the bird over, cradling it

to the yard to bury a starving

girl whose memories don't mean

less because people

will never read them.

What is worse

if I jump

or if I am pushed?