Everyday pink punctured sun through
the attic window, everyday thick minty spit
on the drain, every single day
the earth scabbing over, undiagnosed,
every moldering night:
Amen, tell me the secret;
every person knows, but can’t remember?
Tell me the sickness in my brother’s, mother’s, dad’s dreams—
tell me the treatment plan
and if love is dose dependent, tell me
how an evening primrose unfolds
its silken, infant heart, in darkness no less
and alone in a garden that has already clenched
closed, everyday my hand yearns
to rest between the shoulder blades of a vagrant child
yearns to say, tell me of your massive wings
without having spoken at all, everyday
I wake up once
and sense a million birds.