Fire of Birds

waiting for sun in the morning, my eyes on the ceiling,
a fire of birds brilliantly burns.
and the body knows before I know.
and didn’t we? didn’t we pretend?
oh you and your christ kite caterwauling in the air
oh, coarse and feral
and even so you let me go.
I couldn’t charm my way back to you.
oh, late lady night
oh, lake, lake at night
oh slouched ghosts of light
and your storm shoulders bright in the bloomed lillac booms
I pray for peace where the lampare cinders burned the trees
still I can half-see you. I can half-see you
in yard in the rain in your wellington boots
where we danced like we were on fire
like the birds we spoke with fire
we danced like we were all on fire…