losing-her

Migration

You love her like summer
loves birds; she is your
flight and your song and
when she flies through
your currents, her life
makes your lungs full.

When fall rang like
church bells over the
aching joints of your
held hands, you began
to pray for the seasons
to swell in reverse.

You are air that is
cooling, and her flock
is migrating and your
lungs have been empty
for days. She was your
flight and your song and
you don’t know how
to tell her you won’t
survive winter with her
gone.