I wrote in 2012 and found today in some notes
  1. what would it be like to hear a bird cry through the low violet of impending dawn and not feel cocaine? i must have once known. i watched through swiss binoculars. i awoke to mr. coffee. i wore a large camouflage jacket and my eyes felt both nauseated and comforted by the great black weight.
  2. he brought me here to watch the birds, they fought as if they once were dinosaurs, their power now weathered, bearing feet too slight for betrayal, even in the softest ash.
  3. the blind is still there but we have all succumbed. i hang three darling birdhouses on my porch but they remain just so, honest as a stopped clock. he is buried with men who lived and fought like him. he is dinosaur and i am just bird but perhaps i will cease to know the difference.