The Cairn

I saw you there by the side of the road.

You alive and, until I arrived,

alone. I know I am bound to the ritual

world—in my dreams I teach myself

how to swallow a sword and I stack

the stones until they make a cairn. We

see the shape but it’s more difficult

to describe the form. What of your last

breath, is it now a bird? Once I was

a feather floating toward

the Rhône. Then I came

to and there you were. Had I been

spared or given back to myself? I hold

the feeling of your body so near to life

in the lines of my palms. Before I died

from an egg I was born. Now I am

witnessing a mysterious thing transform.