Upstairs in Real Life
you raise up clouded blinds
into the bright, and here we are:
Sentinels, wholeheartedly in and out
of the parks, nymphlike moody birds.
Upstairs in real life you turn
slowly into my animal-kingdom
that is obedient, absolute.
We do act. You do tease
often the sweet juicy songs up
in the big nest—more so a tease,
graciously satisfying. Eyes, plenty.
Our nymphlike moody birds.
More letters to remark or represent them.
We will hold onto this,
which was forever this way
as if it was the last.
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