On the pine-tree tufted knoll
I join the day's last birds,
a listener, a watcher of the skies.
I come alone to think of you,
to conjure you from this bare earth,
to let my mind plunge deep
into the memory of your eyes.
I see the crooked wing-bone
of your flight-path dissipate in fire's
trajectory that stalks the hidden
sun beyond chill cobalt hills.
The gravity that presses down
on me, releases you to fly.