what if we tell our wing + nest story in dappled layers so our feet become fishes and morning glory tendrils furiously bind our legs together faster than we want to move.
what if our baby birds get to play on the beaches all day, many all days and the sand that stuck to our legs scatters our laughter with wishes of stay.
what if the burning blueberries and calling cranes and flashy beetles
and sparkly tears and almost hagstones
are a conspiracy union to knit our lives together in such ways
that wide spans of water and time and quiet
are just blips of moon shadow sighs,
just lightning flashes in a constellation of together.
I love you Em.