As the longest summer in our lives concluded
For us, obsessed with the feng shui of fake spaces
And proofing the real ones
For others, adrift at sea
Overboard into the dry ocean
Drowned in their beds surrounded by air and nobody
In one of those very temples to sleep long and short
They plucked you from the womb, my tiny bird
Cloaked in crimson. Shimmering and gasping
You reached and grasped and took hold, dipping
Your wings in greeting
Your chirps awoke us but
You rose with the sun
Which helped, as we worked
To reassemble your mother-moon
And squinted and shaded our eyes against the daylight
Crawling each dawn out of our little carpet-box
A sense within us all that the Earth was also brand-new
Outside the air was infinite.
Birthed of it was another tiny bird
Cloaked in crimson. Seamless with the branch and sky
Arcing and looping riotously
As I beheld you both there in the winter mornings
The world itself was a mirror. You and the Flycatcher
Reflecting one another
That was when you learned to smile.
