Tell me how they move
for the light and I will gather wild orchids
for you and five species
of cockle shells
and leave them by your window,
by your specimens
and nautical maps, your notes
on the wingspan of night herons and the driftwood
that you salvaged                  
from ships lost to a distant shoreline.

Darling, I have watched
you track a whaling fleet through open waters,
southbound, but before you return
to the deep
let me tell you how, this morning,
their wings on the birches down by the river
were like silk.

Davina Allison