The kitchen smells like eggroll oil, 
oil that slicks my (sweet) hands;

Birdsong (sweet) in my ear like coconut
flesh lavishing the tongue.

my hands bow to the folded gold; 
gold filled with a care that shrieks; 

Only the sky can contain a bird’s
journey and fill it with friendly winds.

shrieks of tongues stay the oily air; 
air that burns me down to no-name;

Yellow canary, pretty little darling!
Lilting coquette ... alas, she doesn’t stay.

no-name woman bent over hot oil;
oil will cling to her bones’ end;

Canaries follow the hollow of their bones;
they soar on the names we give them.

end-dead, discard-dead–how she will smell:
smell like home, like an oily kitchen.

Names are wishes—ah! that’s the catch—
wishes are filled with (sweet) care;
wishes stay deep in your bones;
wishes bear you far from home.