to feel

to feel, as in love, as loved we ever were,
we were honest in strings and in mirrors and ceilings
and in conscience
and in confidence.
there were, if seen separately, nevermore birds—
they warned us in the night, but we made as if not to see them
and attributed our fear to the cold.

and so, when all that we loved we had sold,
we were further away than we ever were close,
we were too high for the wings we no longer controlled,
we were in the heart of the caverns we’d always echoed.

and that, i think, was the end of it.