You find me not sleeping, awake 

In a nest that I’ve made with my fingers 

Sewn with stitches I pulled with my beak 

A home that I wove with spit from the mouth of the moment 

And you sit watching as the songs wriggle out of my mouth while I am emptied of worms. They’re sloppy and grayish like dead things on tv. 

And you stand waiting for answers to questions that my ears have heard but my brain is not holding

And your eyes aren’t half closed but they’re open and looking and full of devotion 

You’re just standing there and I know I have all of the minutes it will take me because you will stand there for as long as it takes me

Then finally my brain hears the question and now I must think. Is this what I want? 

Can I handle it? Can I handle more? Should I try to? 

Is it fair to ask? Am I being a burden?

Is he tired of this? Will it help me feel better? Will it help me grow strong? Will it help me stand up straight? I’ve been thinking about these questions for 31,000 days. 

And I’m able to nod my head and say yes please I would like a smoothie  

And you say okay 

And you make me a smoothie 

And I stretch as the blender chews up my berries for me. 

And I’m grateful and sated and rounded and cold spitting seeds from my teeth 

I tuck into my bed of twigs and rose petals and vine 

And I breathe through the bite of the branch that stays shoved through my back 

And I drink my lunch through a straw and rest from making these big decisions and taking these very big steps 

And I ache for the sun. 

Daedalus, I beg you. 

I need not fly;

If I could only but run. 

2022