I.

The first frantic hunt suppressed
until searching becomes
the constant state of being.
Walking out into the morning.
The canaries that flood out of the tree.
In this gazebo of yellow, bright
wings, I look.

II.

While sleeping, my hand disconnects
the cord of stars by my window, the glass
darkens. I lose recognition of a hunger.
There is the sensation
of something like electricity
leaving as I close my eyes.

III.

The Egyptians believed that to touch a dead man’s mouth
was to reawaken him.
He begged for his lungs to be ripped out
in sections from between the ribs.
Hands flailing against the side of the sarcophagus,
foraging again for something lost.
After being dead, being alive was
uncomfortable, and bright.