When we sat on top of that tree, you wrote a letter
On its leaves, what did it say? Back then,
I had not the ability to make it out, nor had I ever wondered.
But tonight is a different kind of night – under a windless, soulless veil
I imagine birds flying past my craned neck, carrying my message.
Where will my longing go beyond this?
Carry it with you, I tell this world,
Birds in boxes, birds in houses, no room to run
In concrete lines leading to concrete sorrow. The veil only thickens.
Between here and there, there is something, a speck in the grey.
We grasp on and we hold tight. For fear of it running out.