I wait for you, my bare feet cold
on the porch's morning cement.
I imagine you flying over the horizon
as I watch the backyard birds -
the fence does not hold them in.

But, can I write what does not happen?
For these words are merely hairpins
trying to secure my lifted hair,
as I pull them from my teeth.

Sun's day moves shadows about me,
edges my toes, taps my shoulders;
but I gather dust,
and push those hands away.
I do not know how many hours
have tried to wake me.

Like the backyard birds
laughing at the wire (never meant
to hold them in), they are
farewelling, lifting their light wings:
only in thought can I
capture you.

From my hair, I pull the pins out,
make them flap against the sky.
I let the sun rest on my skin
and burn it too -
just as you burned
when your arms refused to close,

because I am steeped
with indomitable fire
that no soft air can tame.

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