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birds
September 7, 2022
We search for clues like amateur sleuths
but the truth is that the only absolute truth
is that there are no absolute truths but I will
still pretend that what we have, me and you,
is one of them. This, us, love.
We argue that passivity, equals freedom—
and for the passage of a second
I feel free. We are tall trees
who grieve each time a bird visits us
then flies far away. Do we miss the birds
or the company? Or do we envy their wings?
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To my equally damaged muse, this poem is for our abandonment issues.