Although deep within sleep he opened

his eyes, sat upright in bed and gazed around

the room before biting into his hand so brutally

the gash showed up for months after. I know this,

I was there; lying next to him I watched the cords of

muscle tightened in his shoulder when he pierced the

webbing between his thumb and finger, asleep but

unconfused. I grabbed him. Shook the shoulder until

there was a mutual sense of watching one another.

I am looking for a bird, he said. He reached

for my mouth to pull back my lip and considered my

teeth—then slept.

For the rest of the night I watched

his face flicker open and shut, body in bed but

mind out there wandering the night. I felt

something in the windows, when I looked it rattled

the glass and ghosted the surface into the street.

Then one bird shrieking in the distance,

then two.

Tyler Jagt with bio and links.