I remember the silence of the sky
when people looked up at the buzz
of a low-flying four-seater airplane.
Everyone lived in four dimensions,
drove four wheels,
had four faces.
My job-face was an ox.
I plowed through the day, curbing
my urge to run to the lake.
My love-face was a lion,
loyal and fierce, hard hunger
swelling below my ribs.
My self-face was only part human.
Sometimes I was a humble witch,
sometimes a black-winged angel.
My spirit-face confronted me beak-first
with a brown-eyed, dirt-feathered eagle.
I still dream in bird’s-eye view.
As the sky grew louder, our faces faded.
We became one-faced and two-mouthed,
filling the air with fumes and chatter.
I remember the sky, almost
quiet enough to hear clouds breathe,
shattered by church bells.
published in Silver Blade
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