fall, 2017

the tiniest bird has abandoned us.
it was the last bird
an almost invisible 
species and it followed 
the last leaf
which was so red 
it turned liquid
and blotted the earth.
in our hearts we know 
it will be like this,
how the earth will perish 
someday
the sun folding its chair
in outer space, the moon-clad
cold turning respiration to ice.
we burn things to forget this,
we talk around it 
and we eat the world as if our guts
were safety deposit boxes 
as if talking could replace
the death of the belled sea.
and so our hearts shrink
while the rest swells. 
dear heart, you are tender, the tiniest of birds. 
dear heart, you are red and you are liquid.
friends, if you miss these chances
to weep, the cold 
will come for you first.
​