Birds & Angels Share Their Bones

This is a poem for how your back
feathered into wings; how the spine
cracked and gave way; how your
shoulders molted in the growing
heat. This is a poem about death;
that word; its five letters; how it
drips obsidian and rests slick in
the mouth. I want to swallow it
whole. This is a poem for the split
tree in my dreams that keeps stretching
its arms towards me; for the bird —
that raven — who knows my name.
This is a poem about that empty
space — heart-shaped and showing
— that grows every Spring. This is
the thing, I’m sick of it. This poem;
I want to swallow it whole.

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