We fell in love near blackbirds, a tree full.
Among bare November branches
the birds became its fruit.

We couldn’t trust blackbirds not to tell.
A kiss, and they took flight
all at once, circling the bell tower
like a black scarf caught in a wheel.

The wheel never stopped. We can say that
about a few good things.
We could see spring—last and next—
on every dark wing.