I go out to the garden, see

I go out to the garden, see
the hummingbird is at the feeder.
The sky is cold. It is dark and rainy
as it should be
and here we are, you,
my sweetbitter
unmanageable–you
were that blue,
lanugo-coated
ball of human
the swollen creek
strains through

There is a pause
and the conversation turns
and here we are, here
at the end of things,
the perched birds,
crying and unseen
among the branches—
they are the hardest
to keep down

Yesterday, anger was a sanctuary.
Every two weeks I came home,
tried not to look at the tree
that leans so far–it was like hunger,
this watching

Today it is the crows who speak, finally.
The splintered oak
has leafed out, the sun
flooding
in our wingless,
salty hearts

Source & Method