Small Ending

Each bird a yard bird
and wind throwing weight,
I know where you live,

wind wanting in
and the same smack dab,
the best served chilled,

bones aspiring
to bone dry, the last light
casing the empty house,

fist and fistula,
flesh a fixed fight,
the blind turn, the drive-thru

and the Bless you,
apt signage (Yield),
and days and still no sign

of sky, aspiring scarecrows
(our outstretched arms)
and the days, moving targets,

trains mourning their own
and open-mouthed meters
and I reckon and we reckon.

Copyright © 2005 Dora Malech All rights reserved
from Chelsea
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission