Sometimes I’m surprised how hurt I still am, so
outsized—even to me.
                                                                 Reprieve becomes the burst of a blueberry between. 

—the sadness is in my chest again &
                                                                 all it takes is the song in my head remixed on the
            neighbor’s radio
\\ across the street \\ the garden of my lungs
becomes overgrown with grief,

                                                         swollen. Tight & tall.

Maybe this will resurrect the self:                                                   I study a mourning dove
in her porch corner roost,

            blue-lidded & trusting.
My sadness has started to feel
                                                      like a separate person. I startle

at the thought, now we’re two yellow finches
tangled briefly in bachelor’s buttons.
                                                                    Somehow, we both still know to say yes,

            unlaced           & loudly.