She’d like to burrow further into
the spoons he nightly carves for her
and from that place she feels the rumble
of his slumbers shielding them from the
language of new things that knock knock with
bruised fists on the windows of their minds.
They fled from the gaze of the steel birds
that tower above towers in silent
majesty. The eye of the tempest
fought by other tempests whose battle
cry crackles through radio speakers
and she’s angry and it scalds.