A Letter to the Sacred Ibis

We have been in the yard all morning,

the balsams unable to keep our attention

as the greater excitement of breathing ends.

Inside the house a tall mirror leans against

the railing of the staircase. You’ve left

all of your papers on the sofa

for a lack of better conclusions.

An outdoor lodge was built yesterday

and children did their impressions of the afterlife

in wet cement.

One child’s foot rests in an infinite staircase.

It is heavy from rain & unlikeness—he chuckles,

sees his house and cliffs as

hounds trail the specks of other animals,

he returns

to chase things that have been

lost. The neighbor’s car is filled with groceries

and an empty green flask.