last will & testament 

this is a elegy
but only sort of

a bird flew into
our chimney yesterday

he made the sound
of flourishing dictionary pages
or a shoe being swallowed

as he descended into 
the mouth of brick & dust

we haven't used the fireplace
in decades &
it's boarded up so 
there's no way to open
it from the living room--

it's a crypt--
walls of a tomb written
in bird feather--

i want to know what
could have drawn him in

a dare from the blue jays?

is it the same way
i feel about jumping into wells?

am i a coin teeth flashing
in well water?

moon peering in
like a mother over
the wall of a crib--

the bird got caught around
twilight & waited as 
the tunnel filled with 
more & more darkness
as if night was being
shoveled on top of him
buried alive in shadow

he opened his mouth
to shout

voice contorted--

he lay in the neck of
a clarinet

remembering the songs 
they all song in february 
when it was so untimely warm--

did we meet maybe
when i sat by the creek &
swatted at gnats?

him only a few meters away-- 

delicate feet
over the soft warm earth

he was made for april nights

this is the confirmation 
that the call of the void
is eventually too strong to resist 

i'm imagining him as
a robin-- 

two black eyes made of pennies 
& a throat bruised 
rusted raw orange 

did he know he was dying?

he listened helplessly
from the couch

our mundaneness is
what frightens me the most

glasses of water
the tv remote
our laptops open 

we would get silent
whenever he made noise again

like a book spine
being hurled against a wall

was he writing his 
last will & testament

maybe on the brick walls around him

thrashing at the bottom
like a fireflies forgotten
in a mason jar--

was he leaving it all
to us?

his nest for us to use
as a crown of thorns

his beak for us to tell
his wife & nestlings
that be loved her 

all his feathers
to be dropped out
an open window like cherry blossoms--

i want to turn into
a bird & fly down there with him

we would both be trapped

he would tell me about
his plan for escape 

about the cracks of light he
could see coming from 
our desk lamps

i would hold him & tell him
that we should sleep
that it was time to sleep
that we'd try & escape again in the morning
when the sun peered back in at us 

we'd kiss with beaks,
tell stories from our childhood 

we'd both fall limp

& wouldn't wake up