by Tasha Cotter
The Goldfinches never asked for the seed bag I tied to the tree. They come and go now, resembling very large, ecstatic bumblebees. I wonder if they recognize the way they escape each other. Do they arrive only to discover the song of the other left hanging in the air? Does life get disrupted by ghost? They remind me of some elementary hands being raised, each holding its breath, holding out for an answer. These birds sense the mystery of a gone friend, but they can find each other after the initial loss. Maybe they can even do this against a very great wind.