there is only what you bring
with you when you go.
feathers rustle brightly room to room.
raising up the dust to catch stray
reflections of passive light.
the sound they make is a chair
that no one sits
there is only one voice that you bring
with you when you go.
a song smooth and round and unexpected
finds its way back into the world.
the hands that leave your side migrate
home.
there is only what you have
with you when you go.
stretching off above, holding up
the sky when no one’s looking.
pressing urgently into the fleshy
underside of life, a wildness
breaks with the day. something falls
away from you never to return.
those wings answer only to personal
prayer.
