birds born in midair
never leave the sky
what has no beginning
has no real ending...never quite lands
..you can drag the bottom
forever
finding or finding not
searching for that body
by which satisfies as an explanation
and buys you only time
which will never satisfy
and by time you are not softened
not like the stone smoothed, hiding in your hand
...its never been a simple matter
to just die
or to be the thing you are born to
...however
this one morning
the birds flew lower and closer
than they had ever flown before

...and we are recompensed as a question
of whether we are dead or truly alive
and as i still breath
i promise to never hesitate
to tell you
while
we so very much are