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.