almost elegy, certain parting, where
a bird sounds like glass, where a bird
sounds out something that resemble
most whatever in us hollowed, as if
the body a foot of a hill carved out,
maybe small incline, small rise, smallest
elevation, & always all that elsewhere
elsewhere, where unmoving we’ve stalled,
kept at near-hover. To make of the day’s
news a map, some direction we might
turn, we should learn to pronounce each
name, practice every address, say little
winged sparrow, little starling, little some
-thing or other—like that, only more exact.
