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you’ve been watching someone
shoot a handgun out towards
Cuyahoga National don’t know
what to do about that either except
one evening after returning from
the bar down in town craning
your neck there something sinister
to avoid seventeen bigscreens you
catch a glimpse of a wood pigeon
in the glaze of your bedroom mirror
call me and we commit to
taking it easy a few hours out back
before ignoring what she says
and ducking out on a night hike
through the tunnel in search of
the dankest moss draping the ledges
we’ll feed the birds tomorrow and try
to convince her we saw a bald eagle
that wanted to be cradled in your arms
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