WEBVTT

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"Dear--

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Your voice, broken as a
body when you speak of loss,

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of losing her.

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Awash in the grief that comes
I know when the one you love

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lets go, and it's
nothing you've done.

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This morning I dreamed
again of birds.

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Happens all the time.

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This morning I dreamed again
of birds, blue, and dead, wings

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lifted in a parody of flight.

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And yes, I'd sworn
off the birds, love,

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and so they died, as
any living thing might.

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That's one reading, I suppose.

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Another way of letting go
after having held you once

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for a while, content with
the shape of what was.

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Perhaps the birds were
an algorithm myth.

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But who knows what promise will
rise or perish come morning.

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