Premonition
I see your face like November
in the trees.
Light, in shoots,
resilient
through a sunken canopy
— how quickly the two worlds fold
together. I reach for your wrist
on the wind-tangled
wet road. Through
the windshield I reach
for the ends of you —
like a thousand birds
shaken from a single tree,
as alive in flight as you
will ever be. Then,
like the tree, settled
in such terrible stillness.
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