5:47 and I am awake before you,
some pale glow casting window pane
shadows across your body, birds of
paradise growing and receding
across the freckled constellation
of your chest as the sun rises
without you, rises like me
on my way from cocoon
into the frosty violation of morning
and denim sliding up thighs.
Into boots still wet.
Into sputtering, murky blue retreat.
Into you whispering,
Ode to Leaving
Silver songbird with diamond stare
leashed to my neck
flies feverish circles in front
of rooftop eyes
and lands in the furrow
of your clavicle into my cupped palm nest.
The slight give of flesh
beneath your fingers chalky
from the rock face,
sharp and sculpted
as feathers worn by war chiefs
who return from raw plains,
the sugared song of the sparrow
I whistle for you
when your lids close.
When you’re at the door, keys in hand,
I crawl to you and on bruised knees
wrap that rope around my throat
one last time.
T. BAHRE is very excited to be published in Sediments Literary-Arts Journal. She currently works as a freelancer in the American South.