Issue 14

A church sits in the window,
small with silent bells.
Fluorescent and white,
sharp and clean and careful—
pillar after pillar of cold air
toting birds quietly along the roof.
Point Pelee at the arrowhead,
those birds in dad’s diary:
Blackpoll Warbler, Canada, 2008—
then gone.

I bought a tent for three, just in case.
A mosquito zipped in my ear
because that’s just the way things is,
because the dim flashlight yanked
the heat of the world back inside,
back to us, heavy on the grass.
Tall rooms, fences, a drainage basin,
a corner of Van Buren county. . .
Childhood is the kingdom
where nobody dies
the book reads,
pointing boldly to Millay.
The birds unhook from the gable.
They fly only up.