I want to believe
we’re all in it
together. But this
is America. Here,
we’re ready to light
each other’s hair
on fire. If the world
were on fire,
at least we’d all be in it
together, except for
the bears
floating by on boats
of ice. The deer
were in it together,
if it means forest
fire, or smoke.
Here, there should be
a gold ring
that makes it clear
the subject
is love. Here,
a line about birds.
But I am done
with the small bodies
that hold together
a pair of wings.
All the wings
are in this together,
a vast conspiracy
of flapping, like gravity
wasn’t the one
thing holding us
in place.