No, You Are Not the Ship That Changed Course to Find Me
White duck and white duck
reflection. Umber cow
in a green field. This is
a grey sky, this is a train
window. I’ve created
a spreadsheet for lovely
days not in this room.
You are coming, I tell
myself, an unreliable
narrator. I’m a breeze
in a blue curtain. The trees
will try to stop you, they
will crank up the tinder
to send the egg thief
home. The old story —
I threw down my mirror,
it became a migration.
Lifted the edge
of my battlefield only
to find your uniform’s
stars and the way
the waters kept rising.
A baby animal is good
as any fresh start. Start
with a series of circles.
Triangles to chicks as words
to girls. I never saw you
coming and by then
it was mutiny all over
again. My circumference
spent opening and closing
your voice. The only
thing left to say:
I imagine you happy
just before morning,
feet barely visible and
an unplanted flag wrapped
in elliptical space.