A web, woven
before you could awaken
bright filaments
in the wind,
a spiral the heart
could never hold.
There was a day when
music escaped your mouth,
the song of
how narrow
the world is even
with us in it,
all that talk about spinning
around something that never moves,
like you were when you were little
and no one said or heard a word.
What does anyone want?
It seems more than all of us could ever handle.
Hummingbirds, smaller and more alive
than you could ever be–
in the summer trees
mock apples
fall in the dry grass
somehow still
watered when it was over.
