It is windy out there. Back

home an argument continues.
We could be swimming, eating,
going for a walk, pointing
at a bird. Taking batteries
to the emergency. How many
birds do I have? Have I had?
The hydra in the sunshine.
I could be sitting in a
window composing the postal
service on an invisible grid
of trumpets. My skull could be
whizzing through weeks worth of
nests. I could be a fish,
on a train.