Nothing disappears that you already see.
How come crows are dark manes of stars
And you are mostly freedom, mostly longing
Between your unruly days,
The rampant nights of your raven hair?
Or, is the universe, like you, a swan
Who swims at night through every river we’ve seen?
For your sounds float. Your silences sing-song.
And you hum in your other room
As your hands clean the knife
That cuts the fish inside its heavy air
Which in silence we say to each other
We do not feel except for that
Catch of wind that quickens, then
Gives way between the cleave.