Dameion Wagner

perches

I wanted you to see the narrow

blue   haze   of   morning   how

streaked      rains      water      the

small leaves that get heavy and 

bitter, rimmed with a thin beauty,

between us thirsty air winds up

into pale cries with little told.

You   must   understand   this   —

today you opened a cookbook,

cut the carrot, celery and onion,

questioned    fresh    over    dried

thyme, focused your attention on

the words, pretended that some

sparrow had perched outside the

window on a lilac branch, or on

any branch on any tree through

any  window.  I  know  what  it’s

like  to  be lonely when you’re  in

the  room,  the   disappearing,  the

small   leaves   under   dark,   thin

beauty.