by Magnolia Paisley

Darling, I’m a nightbird

who forgot her wings

in a world of creation

where these tools feel

unorthodox for my hands.

Darling, I feel no remorse

for your loss, you should

Have expected me to go,

for like transient murmurations

we humans with four hands

create something wonderful

with the eventuality

of something nothing.

Do not fret, our love

is not lost yet.

Give it time,

give it time,

for everything we made

to breathe and die.