A crow flying sideways
could tell how long a day is
(his story flies away from itself
in what they call an arc)
and be finished by nightfall
not a minute too soon.
A songbird flying off-season
could routinely spark an epoch
(North and South share a pole but
West and East long for one another
across oceanic heartbreak)
her call notes sound doubtful
among the mute landmarks.
A raptor flying furlongs
could spot the edge of a breath
(an air exhaled and sulking above
the roulette tables like a hungry compass)
staking the plots and divisions
that were so hard won.