a cup of feathers

the feather duster flicks over 
a porcelain frog just like that 
brief moment every few seconds 
when I close my eyes. maybe 
I could’ve stopped and seen you better

I watch the rooster, a black lump 
in the thick shade of the pear tree.
he has a minimalist tail
really just a single plume,
you know. there’s something
forgotten in all of us and 

in the dreams I jump out of, 
flailing onto my pillows, 
a gasping fish, losing your 
voice in the dark room, 
my head is swimming in feathers. 

we shared our histories and laughter, 
the patterned froth in coffee cups 
and chemical infusions. we shared an 
illness; new plumage, the 
insatiable baldness of fear.

did you know? I piece 
together his cracked voice;
how time slewed like a
Dali clock. Insouciant grief
perched in hospital windows
beaked and savage. I didn’t know.
 it’s such a long road  to forever,
  
no matter how the crow flies.

10 thoughts on “a cup of feathers

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