I could consent to lose everything
although I don't believe
any of it comes back. I just know
the rhythm of the scene setting
when you are looking at the falling
bulk of what you have known
crash around your hands face and feet--
and calling to it, commanding it to get up
come up, trace where it was or dream it back,
there will be a flaw, or deer path,
a change that is so slight you won't
think to see it until you are done
screaming and wishing to have never seen,
but there, in white-lit grass and churning dust,
is a small, brown bird disrupted from sleep
and if you can just look at it
and notice, it will fly in the direction
you are to go in
and if you go you will forget much
and get up and
gain back the breath
to greet your days
