1.
The field was open
like the mouth
of a sparrow
inside
where there are winding halls
You vanish
into a brand of forget-me-nots
and pollen
2.
I spent that morning knowing
that this was the one
I couldn’t
accept –
inside the pages
was a swan
still breaking
from its shell –
and yet,
it was fully grown,
miniaturized,
its back white
in its V of breakage –
of feathers and leaves –
I remember how
your eyes were red
when you tried to patent
this breathing
cloud.