20.

in the song of a friend
a sunlit kitchen and the tutorial
language of birds (just now
a chickadee - closer - a kingfisher
further off) in the soul of
another, resting his brother's horse
roan-blue, sure-footed beside a
mountain tributary, black water
running from unfound pools
after over through
beyond

here, in low country, I turn
their melodies in hand and swallow
, waiting for words

we lose people
but keep shadows
lose voices
but stow every
vibration

either one is lost and the other dead
or this vernal sun across the table (
now the waxwing)
or hoofs click against wet scree
but we are all in this
together