As Might Love

by Allen Fowler

Pierce and ugly caw embroider
an edge which parries wind
as might love, so so softly that the whole moves
as if through water.
Branch to branch, leaves bristle clack fire.

Remember your father’s breath,
how death is a dormancy,
when your mother last touched your face,
that sunrises cease to matter,
who she was you first dared.

half a bed’s half a bed
rise still jealous yellow