The following is a poem from Music for Landing Planes By by Éireann Lorsung, published by Milkweed Editions.

Being

A letter is holy. A story
is holy hands reaching out into the world.
Birds come home
across distance I can’t conceive

and live in their bodies.
Ash in the air. Every place I’ve been
is on fire with words.

One day
I throw away all my love letters
without noticing. Mountains

in the heart.
What belongs
to me? I leave the world
all the time. These arms, these

fingers, this tongue, these feet,
and their bent wings. I know
it will be dirt, the prayers

now in marrow will retake
earth. I will live inside whatever flies.
Burning, the brink of all things.

 

From Music for Landing Planes By by Éireann Lorsung. Copyright © 2007 by Éireann Lorsung. Published by Milkweed Editions.