Let’s put a pin in that,
they’ve said, which means
we’ll get back to it
but sometimes means
we won’t. Hold it there.
Hold on. Hold your horses.
Hold your hours. Hold each one
as it ticks away in your hand
like holding a baby bird
whose entire being breathes
from your palm, its skin
so thin its organs light up
like seeing fish swim through
a very clear pool. Once
I saved a baby bird who’d fallen
from a nest by killing it,
its featherless body
already attracting ants. Will
you believe me
if I tell you when I brought
the blade of the shovel down
what I felt was love
and the love cut through me
to where my organs shook
under the sheath of my skin?

Jen Town