A private revelation
has taken hold of me

An internal understanding,

I am living more fully
in this moment         now
than I ever thought
possible / necessary

This is so authentic
that I taste oils in my       
remember all of my
             previous locutions,

spend my nights alone
waiting for more words



There is another dead bird
in its house, in my house
in the house we all share
I feel sadness, disorientation
we will bury this bird with
other birds and continue to love
things even though we know
they will all die, some slowly
shaking, huddled in a corner
some in contortions that frighten
and make me move my hands
in ways that signal my grief
I want dead things to stay
out of our house forever
One morning I will realize
that everything is a dead thing
that has yet to die and on that
morning I will cup a bird in my
hands and say the only small
prayers that I remember



John Findura is the author of the poetry collection Submerged (ELJ, 2018). He holds an MFA from The New School as well as a degree in psychotherapy. His poetry and criticism appear in numerous journals including Verse; Fourteen Hills; Copper Nickel; Pleiades; Forklift, Ohio; Sixth Finch; Prelude; and Rain Taxi. A guest blogger for The Best American Poetry, he lives in Northern New Jersey with his wife and daughters.