Memory Bird
When I turn
Into dust and memory,
No one will say
I was an eagle,
Flying higher than anyone,
Big, wide wings,
Queen of the sky.
Nor will they say,
I was a raven,
Cloaked in a black, cleric’s frock,
But cocky and loud.
They won’t think I was a cardinal,
Dressed for the red carpet,
Ravishing in the midst of the snow.
Perhaps they’ll say I was a dove,
Flying over the fence,
Cooing softly,
Until the whole yard grew content and calm.
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