Remember that woman on the bus last winter?
How she removed her red hat, and her hair flew up
like electric birds? Remember
how all the books and newspapers on the bus
spread and shook their wings at once?
The time seemed right.
They all wanted to fly away, but we all
got off the bus and went to work. The birds
went back to sleep.
* * *
The slightest breeze-just a thought, really-stirs the mist
to a lovely madness, just minutes before the day
burns the music away.