Learning to Fly




“Do you hear the rain?” —Jessica Dubroff

One night, I thought I saw a man watching me sleep.

Days later, the front door slammed by wind,

I climbed through

a window I hadn't left unlocked.

Do you hear the rain?

I studied all the photos found in a killer's locker

marked: Do you know this person?

Open-mouthed girl on a bench, hair squalling.

I read so much about death these days, I don't know

how to write life anymore.

I saw a child fly.

Her father throwing her skyward.

I expect the wind to reveal, young men to leap

over bonfires on the beach in Spain,

birds to pull worms from drummed soil.

Do you hear it?

Each familiar mirror.

A woman dancing. The camera frame cutting

her at the chest, all fossilised smile

and limbs extended, her dried wings.