Signal
by Evan Harrison
Dark blanket waving, a dance to sweat disease, a signaling of some approach— tugged thin to then balloon, the blackbirds blur in snarls, and I feel the hope of having been spoken to in solemn privacy. Only when torn by flight unpatterned does the sky’s white recede enough, no longer seem a sinking veil. Wingtips sore from weaving, the flock falls into the place of leaves, and lives as such.