I.

We opened vents,
tapped the walls, but each bird
only listened for the other.
They cried all night,
one searching in the north wall,
one in the south, the distance
between them a dark atmosphere
in which we held each other.
But soon the rooms returned
to the old, silent geometry.
You found one of them
stuck in the furnace,
its wings frozen,
open, as if in flight.

 

II.

We watched trees
sweep the night into a storm.
The lamps guttered out.
Lightning struck
your silhouette against
windows enameled with rain.
I stumbled in the dark
for the candelabra.
It was velvet with dust.
The spark of a match.
Watch. From my hands
two black wings, flickering.
You laughed. Another bird
appeared on the wall.