You are dizzy again today.

         Your hazel eyes become
                two different birds, one a fat
         sparrow, the other a bloodshot finch.

                   The last two times,
the doctors found nothing.
         Just a brain, we joked.

You return to bed, lie back

                   on the pillow that becomes a cloud,
                             and wag your head side to side,
         the prescribed exercise.

Someday soon the room will stop

                             circling your body like
         a giant bird of prey,

                   will land on the blankets,
         enfolding you with white wings,

                             still.