when the human in you with a nod to Danusha Laméris
AE Hines When the human in you wants to let go of this world, make a list of what you’d miss. Dark hawks flying low above a Carolina wetland, blue cypress rising from a mirror of sky rolling with clouds. Rush of morning air like an unexpected kindness. How many things can you slip into the heart’s pocket? Morning coffee, steam twitching the hair in your nostrils. Rain, light as a phantom softly singing off concrete. The shadows beneath the wrought iron bench take nothing from the slats of sun cast between them, or the passing raft of ducks, or the blue jays jeering
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W H E N T H E H U M A N I N YOU
from the birches. Listen to the laughter and clipped trot of horses far-off in the distance, a marching band calling you home.