Tell me I am not the only one
      who saw the hawk in the tree. Who saw

the bird’s swift descent. Once you said
      you wanted to be my adventure. Tell me

now. Here, where shade is scarce. Where
      the sidewalk is burning and dogs

walk with purpose. Remember when you found me
      by the lake and we heard the rain?

How close it came but never reached us? Tell me
      it reached us. It came down

before we had the chance to swim. But I don’t know how
      to swim and you know that. It came down

and you took my hand. We ran to the house
      we were renting. No, we ran toward the dam.

Remember how fierce the churning? The water
      littered and loud? Last spring

they found that body of a man
      and across his belly the gothic-lettered tattoo:

Cremate Me. That’s what I want: a message
      and a journey. Like that, but not exactly.

Do you see? I cannot be the only one who noticed
      that hawk. Or how it perched in the oak

before it ambushed something by our garage. Tell me
      you want to know what’s wrong.