DRY FIT

At 6:14 she laid the two halves of the cup
on a blue dishcloth, near enough
for the painted swallow to regain its tail.

The kettle clicked off.

She had glue, kitchen twine, a clean rag.
She had watched three videos: press,
wipe the bead, bind, wait.

First, dry-fit.

The rims recognized each other.
Not perfectly. A line of morning remained
between them, too narrow to name a color.

She held them there.

In the alley a van began to reverse.
Its warning note returned to the same place,
then returned.

A skin gathered on the tea in the other cup.
Beside the glue, the cap held one clear drop.

When her thumb started to tremble,
she released the pieces.
The swallow opened at the breast.

She fitted them again, less hard.

Between the bird's two halves,
the warning note kept returning.