"To survive is sometimes a leap into madness.
The fingers of saints are still hot from miracles, but can they save themselves?
Where is the dimension a god lives who will take Bird home?
I want to see it, I said to the Catalinas, to the Rincons, to anyone listening in the dark.
I said, Let me hear you by any means:
by horn, by fever, by night, even by some poem
attempting flight home."
Full poem here: https://poems.com/poem/bird-2/