Recovery is like a wind that shakes off the leaves
and then they flee.
I can hear the wind in my limbs
I can dream of wind through fevered sleep
and wake to a bare yard.
I am entering the middle period
a middle stage
and you and everyone else
are blowing away from me.
I reach for you
in your younger form
with longer hair
and suppler frame
and there you are
all of you.
When the rains come
and I stand out here, sweating, trembling
waiting to know when the rain I have waited for
I feel each of you eating from my hand
like baby birds
and then you fly out the window
and I wake to my own rain.
You and every colour that must accompany you
-how they change each time I see you
you must walk with a parasol
and the wind must take the fabric
up with everything else
and lift it with a thousand more birds
cleanly from the trees.
If I could gather all of you
together like a flock again
I would finally feel I am of a flock
and not cry out to a sky that turns a thinner blue
before bursting into deep space.
-Jeremy Nathan Marks