The wind comes warm as breath
and stirs me like laundry  
on a line. Then it’s gone. Life  
weaves itself together
from next to nothing;  
it’s all these moments
I want, to take them in
before they’re taken away.
A patch of blue breaches clouds
the way green comes to winter
and the black of a raven’s  
something I can hardly stand  
the beauty of: unshadowed  
or itself a shadow
untethered from things. It coasts
across the opening sky
on motionless wings
as if it too notices
a ray of light threading
its way into the world.