When I sent the birds away,
I figured Time would fly away, too,
that it would seal the rifts — seal me.
Am I not the same as I was before the birds?
Before the birds launched,
they kissed my face, took its threads,
and pulled.
My skin stretched soft over
my bones and tissues.
See, I’m just the same.
My birds were powerful —
they flew into the wind,
against its currents, and
— look at that — they spun
the world backwards. They
reminded me: I was afraid,
yet I was courageous. I was
budding, but I was undone.
I tugged that skin
over the rest of my body,
and it fit just fine. I returned
to the old mile marker.
I am the same as I was.
