Black bird opens

Your green glove will not take my thumb. I wear it loose and lift the seed tin. Blackbird gives an unfinished phrase. Last night's wind laid down the bean poles. Pear leaves plaster every stone. Borrowed dishes crowd the counter, masking tape on every lid. I have watered nothing lately. Still the mint comes through the seams. I set your trowel by my boot and stand where you would start with weeds. The blackbird waits above the drainpipe as if I know the missing line. I can hear the whole street waking. I cannot call the morning mine. Let the small birds start the morning. Let them spend the first clear note. Let the wet leaves take the daylight. Let the chimney lose its smoke. I don't have to call it mercy. I don't have to say I'm fine. Let the small birds start the morning. I will meet it in my time. Your pencil leans across the packets: peas by fence and beans past frost. At the bottom, yellow marigolds, bought the week the treatment stopped. I remember how you shook them like dry weather by my ear. Said, “These seeds will wait a season.” I made them wait another year. I break the paper at one corner, then I fold the opening closed. Wanting one thing to continue is not the same as letting go. Let the small birds start the morning. Let them spend the first clear note. Let the wet leaves take the daylight. Let the chimney lose its smoke. I don't have to plant a promise. I don't have to say I'm fine. Let the small birds start the morning. I can meet it in my time. On the last night you could answer, I asked what I should save. You said, “Nothing just because I touched it. Pull what dies. Give roots their space. If the blackbird starts before you, let it have the opening line. You don't have to love the morning. Just don't say it passed you by.” Let the small birds start the morning. I will take the next clear note. Let the wet leaves hold the daylight. I lift the bean poles from the loam. I don't call the morning mercy. I still say your name out loud. Let the small birds start the morning. I press one seed into the ground. I cover one seed with my hand. Good morning, love. Blackbird completes its phrase.