Based on a recent anthropology conversation in which I was educated about the Nuer tribe and their belief that twins are birds, I offer this poem, written sitting on an airplane with the sun streaming in the window

Sunlight Through a Window

Twins are birds,
Or so they say,
In words not yet polluted
By Cartesian sway.
We’re pulled apart
At birth. We stray
From Mother,
Sisterbrother,
Father.
Sun.

The God terms gone.

But still
There’s warmth
That shows
Through windows,
Hitting skin,
Yet heating body
From within.
It warms the core
But shines
From without.
I feel an outside world
So distant its heat
Is light years old,
Yet still brand new.

Both and.

The sun’s in me.
The past is now.
That twins are birds
Makes sense somehow.