I am idle and not.
In the space between
sits a bird on my car roof?
I am still, key in hand.
I am only guessing, idling.
Just this continuation.
Then
an expression of wings fills me
and beauty is on the branch.
The smallest of hawks.
The everything she sees
is a twisting diamond,
my face, the car,
her food flitting about.
I hold her perfect body
here and there.
She persists in
coming from the future
until
I move forward
and slide like a
dark touch screen,
out of the frame,
into memory’s breath,
dragging the past
behind my growing self.
