—I HOPE YOU GET THERE BEFORE I DO

                                          Re-furnished

In the after, plucked and featherless for once, we admire each other’s bald scars, the mundane folds of flesh, each speckled pupil and mourning dove. There’s time for everything, the slow sway of grass, a wave of wind, the quiet crush of a leaf. Let’s leave the dolphins in the canals, cellos playing on the balconies. Let’s promise to remember then, holding tighter this time, listening to every sound, tasting whatever flavor that happens to land, like a moth or butterfly, upon our tongue.