A grey heron flying west, touching the water lightly
will bring you a morning husband, nipples like berries to delight you.

A shearwater thinking of you not at all on its distant island
will bring you a noon husband, his skin puckered pink with war.

Larks and finches in the same spot, high above the ground,
will bring an afternoon husband braced against a bulging knapsack.

A London parrot crushing a seed
will bring your night husband, so like the moon in his nudity.

Two blue jays killing a single magpie
and the husbands, made tissue-light by their searching, will fold up at your door.

An owl at all in any direction
and you will take each husband into yourself until you are more husband than not.

And a furious cardinal over a freshly dug field
is just a cardinal as you are just a husband, eating peanut butter in a hot kitchen, unearthed and blushing.