He could read a mallard’s sheen
And tell you how long ’til the frost
Long since dropped his ABC's
She picked up what he had lost
On holy Sunday afternoon
When gods and kings looked down
Roll blue easter snake eye moons
Her gaze became his crown
He sang her favorite lullaby
He built her favorite swing
When she said “Daddy, push me high”
It was his favorite everything
You have roots or you have wings
No matter what you are
They counted ducks and bees and apple trees
But she asked about the stars
Gravity owns falcon bones
Young acorns and old pinecones
Thistles blow across the dunes
The great escape of a red balloon
The hardest autumn harvest days
His arms sometimes gave out
Afternoons she brought him lemonades
That washed away his doubts
She would walk him from the fields
They would count the fleeing wrens
He said, “They’ll be back someday”
She used to ask him when
Until her dreams of golden ponies
Outgrew this one-horse town
She broke her pig for silver and green
And caught the last Greyhound
He went out to hear the snow bunting
Doctor told him get your rest
Still he took down that old tire swing
He was careful of the nest
Winter came and winter went
That fever never did
When the yellow telegram was sent
They made his final bed
You have roots or you have wings
She knew she flew too far
Out her window now there were no geese
Just the honking cars