They seem to be a pair
Although the sun divides them from the green
And grasses don't pretend to even notice them,
The fuel for their flight is the same
Enterprising wind, and how they fly
Requires they have no will of their own
Except to follow — no, not each other
But something they can't see
That each feels individually
In the fever time, without objection or note
To record in the larger breeze.
They drift to what they know not to want
And share what they don't dare to say
And feel what they cannot possibly know
Except that what hies them seems right.
It is only the hillside that is imagined —
Everything else is kept away, in dreams,
Like it must stay secret, what they can't,
For each other, complete.
