we are not birds

this beautiful speed will be the end of us.
those are stars in our teeth.

swallows built their nest around it

she slings it
on a limb,
climbs up to
sew tiny lights
inside.
the pulse,
the half-moon behind it.
you can smell
the coming
snow.

what we know

weren't we superheroes, love-
smug, white-caped in wet snow,

braving the blizzard arm
in arm, invincible—

until the geese, half-buried,
half-asleep in paired mounds

honked softly hill to hill
as if answering

from the warm perfect faith
of their being.