he has red wings and lies before me. daily i chance his profile as he turns away upon waking. particles of our lives float in the streaking beams of our closed windows. in the tiny veins and broken stem of our daily good-byes a leaf pattern is present. i hold it up to the light insect-like. i snap my fingers to see if he can fly, his clammy wings are still. i simply smile- running my hand over his small parts.