They install feathers to tickle us all the way
to the cemetery. We were laughing indeed,
laughing deep inside our pillow slips. The sky
was preposterous and just
like there were uncertain times to come
and times to not forget—it was a movie, one of those
we pick up on the way there or back and pictures freeze,
my magnolia of many lily winters.
Police cars everywhere that evening. Pigeons restating
our scattering recitals, not much to do with the clouds.
Just taste them once, you'll see how bitter
future snow can be. Undress the news--I know
it takes longer and longer to. Are we falling for it? The old
and the very young are not at all at risk. There is hardly any heat.
They installed winters all around but not
for us to see, though we were captured and often held
still. Stop-motioned. My magnolia of many winters and I,
laughing, all the way to the cemetery.