Velocity

She can't sleep and the radio
Takes her downstairs.
A large white owl is sitting on her couch.

This is a riddle.

She looks at her hands.
I didn't call him.
I didn't call him.

She can't sleep.
The word "travesty" types itself across
The whiteness of the moon.
The moon is not a page. It is
A white fist knocking
And tattooed on its knuckles
Is her name.

I hear him crying.
Snow drifts fill the glass dome.

She can't sleep.
A bird is stuck to the center divide.
He is so light, an artifact.
Cars vibrate his wings.
The streets hum conundrums.
Words beginning
With "I"
Click on and off.

He will not fly
But he flies toward her.

-- C.L. Gunther