Two a.m.s like breathing

[wishiwereemo]

I think you are a canadian goose
and you'll be flying somewhere
this fall. Probably someplace
I've never seen and won't see
for a while. Somewhere
with a lot of dust and heat
and trees and cold and salt
and sky.

I am sitting on the brink
of morning and you are sleeping,
probably, feathers tucked in
between the sheets, resting
your head on oily wingtips.
I know there will be more
darknesses like this. Plenty
more. And longer.

I could never be a hunter,
but I've never been afraid
to pick up feathers when I find
them. Bring them home and hide
them and watch the sky for falling
leaves and the silent bird
to one side of a vee, like
punctuation, like a kiss.