…no, not the
birthday whatever,
bagged holiday,
or drugstore forgive-me
thing;
nor the lend/misplace/forget or
hand-me-over migrations;
nor the fix/yard sale/consign
on my behalf
I’m missing
some feathered part of me
that swims starlight
waves sage brush, chants
summer dreams…just let
me breathe what you never-
mind: your freezer’s
atmosphere, your attic fan’s
exhaust, the air between
your window and the storms…