thrashing line

my yellow bird has an elephantine memory for the hope that perches here. i am loud when i am cold. i am so unfinished.

i have tried:

I.
I think it's important to give yourself enough time—always more time. Still, we always think we can harry time, hurry, and defy.

II.
Razor sharp of day that lights: this night will be heard.

III.
but sometimes it is nice just to go back and know what is already there, every one we have loved, everything we have made, everything that heats our iron and fills our coats.

IV.
there is some magic to the cold, crystal song, a shivering ink, the charm of city lights flushed golden and alone.

V.
the moment you thought to ignite went more gravel than breath, careful ache. and i still feel the debt. i love you and will give you more. but tonight i am turned out: a bottle of glass slipping through a milky film—her cigarette eyes choking on the streets—this divine speck.