Well-Well-Well-Well-Well, Don't You Know Her Well?

It's gotten late now
she wants to be alone.

Having forgotten how to fly,
she still remembers where
she put her wings.

Welcome to paradise.

Welcome to three days drunk
& twenty-seven yellow-eyed smiles,
thirty-seven good-byes.

You've seen my name, she says.

You've seen dawn drag day
down my father's narrow valley,
sag like a last note,
a final wag & waddle of the crow
gliding above that little creek
where my father drowned.

Why should you care,
she says.
Why should you
when I'm not here?

I'm thinking of that song
The Postal Service sing, she says.

I'm thinking of my wings,
my dusk-feathered, 
last-light flight. 

Such great heights,
she says.
Such great heights.

I'm dipping my wings in those clouds.
I'm dipping my wings in that creek.

I'm dipping my wings
in my father's grave.