The absence remains impalpable, so unlike a grief, more breeze than anchor. A blueprint asks nothing of me, but that I ruffle my throatfeathers and hum. Wordless, a tune is less normative. Decades might pass. Desire, you tell me, is a room full of doors, but I dwell in possibility, between cemetery and forest, drawn to the uncanny dance of crows, their not quite scorn, their wheeling. See how their wings gleam and dusk? I too am inhabited by weather, yearn for hours for clouds.

Ceridwen Hall is a poet and educator from Ohio. She is the author of Acoustic Shadows (Broadstone Books) and two chapbooks: Automotive (Finishing Line Press), fields drawn from subtle arrows (Co-winner of the 2022 Midwest Chapbook Award). Her work has appeared in TriQuarterly, Pembroke Magazine, The Cincinnati Review, Craft, Poet Lore, and other journals.