Pleasures of the Informed

Shannon Sullivan

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I’ve recently learned wind turbines slice open
birds as easily as a finger placed 
on a spinning top—a cessation of movement 
instant and noiseless. 
 
I’ve recently learned, too, that I loved you much more 
than I believed I did. The news came to me like light
intruding in flashes: tiny people opening their plane
shutters row by row. New knowing of an old love 
Written across the window I’m looking out of, 
 
and then I knew one thing and wondered another:
one, this is an eyesore of the heart of sorts. 
Two, is this a bad omen? 
Instant and noiseless—
someone’s left a light on in my chest.