It is a good day when I see you,
powder-red bloom
on a floating branch.
Or hear you, sliding your one note
barbershop style.
You are always a distance
from me–I try
to get close.
When the sun has hardly risen,
I step quietly
through the woods,
find your shape. Say
to myself: hide,
desire. Yours are not the kind
of hands
to catch this kind of bird.
– Bird in the Head by Ailish Hopper
