Afterlight

I watched the sun hide
and the birds went after it

not all at once, not in some perfect formation
you could name or study

just one lifting then another then more until the sky itself looked like it had decided not to stay still

like something moved through them and they answered

no thinking
no pausing
no weighing what it meant

just wing
and direction

and me —I stayed

because that’s what we do

we stand there
and understand it

we know the sun is leaving
we know it comes back
we know this is the oldest pattern
there is

light goes
light returns

we’ve made peace with it or at least we pretend to

we tell ourselves
this is how things continue

and still—they go

small bodies
holding the last heat of it
as if they can feel
the exact moment
it slips out of reach

and they refuse
to let it go quietly

they follow past where it makes sense past where there is anything left to follow

and I watch them
thinking how strange it is

they don’t know
what we know

they don’t know about tomorrow
or return
or the comfort
of things coming back

to them
light is not a promise

it’s an occurrence

it was there

it touched them

it warmed them

and now it isn’t

and that is enough
to move

so they move

and we don’t

we stay
we explain
we name it
so it hurts less

we say
it’s fine
it’s supposed to happen

we say
it will come back

we say
wait

and we do

we learn how to stand still
inside loss
and call it understanding

and then

when everything is gone
when the sky empties itself of even the idea of light

there’s always one

a songbird somewhere
you can’t see

still singing

not louder than the dark
not enough to change anything

just steady

like it missed the ending
or chose not to believe in it

and that’s when it turns

because we say we’re different
we say we understand

but we do it too

just not with wings

we call things back
in quieter ways

in memory
in longing
in the way we return
to what is already gone
and sit there with it
as if it might shift

we replay voices
we hold onto warmth
long after it has left the room

we don’t rise into the sky

but we follow

in thought
in feeling
in the quiet insistence
that something that mattered should not end so cleanly

and I stand there
between them

their instinct
and my knowing

knowing the sun will return without being called

knowing there is no need

and still

feeling it

that pull
deep and unreasonable

to call it back

as if, just once

it might listen

Habit of Following