(somewhere around the world a kitten dies)
backlit by the porch light
I feel the fluttering heartbeat in the breast of a duck
hands stained red
over holes shaped like bobcat’s teeth
I once cupped in my hands the tiny fragility of a duckling
who dove and splashed in the kitchen sink
whose dainty fluffiness spanned the width of my palm and no more.
The fluttering stops.
Every moment is filled with the slipping away of things.
The knowledge of the knowledge of these is as much a dream as any. I grasp at them all.
Driving by my old elementary school
I am struck by the drab smallness
the empty schoolyard
Somehow, though, I still feel
that if I were to climb the fence
cross the distance of the playground
under the slide
There would be a small girl with yellow hair
weaving a necklace out of dandelions
freshly picked, already wilting.