"One by one,
at day's end,
the birds take flight
in all directions-
which could lead me to you?"
I. This is the part of the story where skin unfolds and I am strong and steady beneath epidermis, dermis, hypodermis. But while I have fifty ways to say, "but I miss you," I do not have the words, "I am better off without you."
II. You push, I fall. Like gravity, the ways of being.
III. This is the part of the story where you leave, and I cannot follow, the part where our paths diverge and I am trying to build bridges between yours and mine, but you have always burned your bridges.
IV. Fifty ways:
V. Once a year, ten thousand magpies form a bridge in the sky so that the Weaving Girl can cross the River of Light to meet the Oxherding Boy.