“…a bird of the air shall carry the voice”
            —Ecclesiastes 10:20

In the curves
of a transatlantic cable,
sea anemones shelter.

Pigeons roost
beneath a freeway bridge,
asleep to the overhead rumble.

I’ll accommodate too,
grow used to silent evenings,
meals apart,

the cries of geese
down the flyway.
For weeks their silver ribbons

turned like Möbius strips, sun
burnishing their bellies.
You left, too, compelled.

And I, compelled to watch you
through a glass darkly.
Glass—a liquid that shatters,

they say. But really,
a solid that breaks.

G. F. Boyer has published poems in a number of journals, including The Southern Review, Prairie Schooner, RHINO Poetry, and Heron Tree. She lives in rural Pennsylvania, where she edits and manages the Clementine Unbound poetry website and works as a freelance editor. Her full-length book, Missile :: Hymnal :: Amulet, will be released in late 2018 or early 2019 by FutureCycle Press.

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