A Thousand Birds

by Hilda Morley 

A thousand birds—they flew out of

your mouth at your dying,

                                       as you said

                                       they would

& bewildered me:

                         They bewilder me still.

Nearly 48 months have passed & the beating

of those wings has haunted,      filled

                                              this room

                                              where I

sit now writing, the room

where you died:

                         a clattering

of wings has passed through these walls.

                                    Something has stopped.

                                    Something

is unable to go any farther.

                                    The wings are

                                    still now

                                    & I rock from

                                    side to side

                                    with the faintest

movement barely perceptible because I cannot

breathe in this stillness

                                        & must set that power

moving,

               those enormous wings

flying again