A Greening
 
Snow leaves us, dripping.
It finds the fault lines       falls side-long,
head-first into cuffs of moss. 
 
Bird wings sound        in our chest, the bird
yellow necked and flaked       as irises
 
are flaked in shifting hues.      
Or that time I found you
covered in frogs by the pond,
all of their eyes closed.
 
One drop collects the others,
they trail green strings.
The day is sun-locked and paling –
the vein-work of your wrist.  Or when you lay over me    
 
and I found my body whole again.  Drop by drop
And the sound of it        off the shale,
 
off the needles, off the boulder rock fall.
The bird beats its wings,        it might be hiding
in your mouth, can I see?
 
It flickers in and out of sound.         We climb up to it
and the cliffs that come away in chips and throws.
 
Or you lay out your arms, 
wrap your face in scarfs
and let the sun fall in.         I might wake up smiling
and the bird will escape from my mouth.