Katrina Kaye

I am trying
to remember
your eyes:

if they burst
around iris,

if they traded
shades of
yellow for grey.

Memory is a
flexible thing,
easily impassioned
or quickly buried
with the influence
of passing days.

You were a
bird I let
fly free but
desperately
hope to see
once more.

Your eyes were
not your best
feature, still,
I can’t help
but to search
for them in
the passing
of crowds.

“Sunburst” is previously published in You May Need to Hear This (2021).