Planes Fly in Formation over My Backyard, As in War Movies

Colorado

Forever is so unfathomable it cannot be held responsible.

Or it is the joyful repetition of the increased effect of sun at high altitudes.

Meanwhile, birds are wise in thin air but live such a short time.

One lies broken in the snow; others surround it, screeching.

Normally I would say there are no images for infinity, but today I am not so sure.

Infinity flows in a blood-red path to itself.

(War spills infinitely into other wars.)

Five planes fly in formation over my backyard, as in war movies.

In reality, I kneel beside this infinite bird.

I am nothing but a string of bells, the hand of a minor god.

I will walk in snow four more times before spring arrives in the foothills.

Snow of burial and keening jays—the opposite of forever.