A Modern Surrender
Long walk in December, militia
and murderers notwithstanding.
The weather slaked.
You don’t have to take everything
so seriously, she said, in front of her statue.
Drops of essence, cradled from our brokenness,
overflowed onto ice-flecked trees.
There’s something about red birds
in the snow and circles on ashen leaves-
a heartbreak sculpture
moving from kingdom to kingdom.
Navigating snow near a faltering street lamp,
we strobed between hope and capitulation.
Is it possible to survive two lives?
The wind complained like a monarch.
Wing to wing on a wire, the aged birds.
Off with their heads, we heard them say.