Some days

Some days

Some days are so full,
there are no corners left to fill,
no scraps of time as empty
as the gaps between the stars,
as last year’s nests,
a page with no words.

These are the days we speak of
in years to come, unwrapping the places,
people, all the things we said,

and I regret those empty times,
the moments of motionless time,
when we’d watch a falcon soar in the endless blue,
the complicated folding of a full-blown rose,
and listen to the orioles’ song,
the calling owls sounding the deep night air.