Blurry Fluttering
on the shelf
by the window
a picture of you in a place I’ll call heaven
playing piano in a garden
next to it, your aftershave
opened briefly and only on special occasions
and lots of angels left and right,
just in case, though neither of us believe
a small photograph of us when I was two
you are directing my attention to the camera
then, and even now
you are encouraging me to smile
was that you
just now, in the window?
or was it only the blurry fluttering
of peripheral birds?
first, the sound of muffled flight
then, the hollow silence of empty air