Safekeeping

Each fogless breath of winter’s bird, clasped in the nest of my hands,overlaps with the next, furious. She hums without noise, a tuning forkpressed against the skin, a vibration conducted through channelsin her hollow bones and the marrow gaps in mine.

Her small life beats away, eight times to my one,my watch—even one I’ve heard carriedthrough the tubes in a stethoscope.

She gasps for the air that flight demands

Why do I have her like this, in my memory?I remember so little. Hands, wrapping my handswith the pressure of safekeeping. And then a wing,sweeping jaw to cheek when I let her go.