I am beginning the slow decent
down the smooth stairs to the open field.

Birds swelling their bodies in the cold
believing tomorrow sun,
tomorrow the night will end.

I am beginning slow. You've forgotten.
Decent is the opposite of memory.
I'm filling my belly with air, preparing for winter.

The woman said
there's an extra chamber to the heart
like a door you must open.

Here's the shinny key, the pink quartz.
Do not believe in stones. Do not believe in stairs.

I am beginning to look
for windows, the place I must crawl.