Watching cardinals by the window, I expect them
to drop dead. But they never. Instead, we keep drinking

bird-themed beers and fly in orbit around each other’s
other lovers, because when we are drunk we call ourselves

a cockatrice couple, the way we span to such great lengths
to say, we’re blooming, there’s nothing wrong, we bloom.

Always, we come down to earth and say we can’t, never
could. When we land in water, our human qualities

return. Can’t withstand
the current.

(originally published in *82 Review, Fall 2022)