to this thought
that there is a phrase
maybe only two or three words
that he needs to say to her
like some magic spell
or a picture she needs to see
a scene showing how easy things are
so he sits down
and writes out words that might work
draws pictures of scenes
that might be what she needs
he works until his hands give up
until they just stop
and refuse to do anything
but hold each other
and he is left holding his hands
in the middle of this pile of paper
this pile of words and pictures
of people reaching into the air
and looking for places where they
cannot hide where they think
they are flying and only fall
w hen they are dreaming
and the pieces of paper are the wings
on their bodies
and they fly from the top of the pile
until they are cleared away
from the table and floor
they fly in the room
like a million sighs moving
over each other in waves
each one trying
to be first in line
trying to be the first one
to say just how it is
they flutter at the windows
as if they can see a light
somewhere on the other side of the world
as if it is crying for them
to come to where it is
these are the kinds of creatures
that live only one night
the kind of creatures you never see alive
you hear them when you dream
you find them in the morning
dried up in a small pile
on the floor beneath the window.
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