“Birdlove” by Zachary Johnson

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It is clear that there are no grounds for believing
the simplest course of events will actually happen—L.W.

Existing
eleven
months together
in clear
moonbeams
above
the downstairs
neighbor’s light-
yellow
lintel: oddly,
we were spotted
owls, up
at dark
hours. Oh
we loved
to hum, hoot,
and make
the world
eerie-
sounding
together:
impersonating
human
voices at night.
At night, voices
sometimes
silenced
our solitude: drunk
threesomes
meandering
along
the sidewalk
before the flat
porch-roof
we sat
on.
We kept going
higher.
On the roll-on
rubber-roofing:
awake
until
matin hymns
of cousin
flightlings
sent us
sleeping
beyond morning.
Wednesday,
when I couldn’t
rouse you
from a fatal
respiratory
depression,
there wasn’t a song,
wasn’t a dream.

-Zachary Johnson

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