Rainbird in the Annex

I make my way to MacEwen's salient red door

to catch some remnants of her

a faint scent lifting into old familiar skin

her unbendable pronounced lightness absorbed by sky

deliquescent words lost to the sun

her cordless poetry smothered by wind

I float on

forgetting why I came and

become caught in Atwood's wide-brimmed hat

I nestle in

and burrow seeds

surrounded by other flight