SPIT, OR

MY MOUTH FILLED WITH YOU, SWEETHEART

There's a certain type of bird which exists in the world without ever landing on the planet. At birth, it takes off from its parents leaving behind the cracked shell of the egg that the parents have carried together, holding it between them in their joined claws as the fly for the three days that it takes the egg to hatch. From this starting place, the new bird flies and flies as far as it can for the fifteen days that make up the sum of its life. On the fifteenth day, the bird bursts into flames and its flesh burns off the bones leaving them white and shiny, clattering in the still solemn air above the world. So many of these birds are born everyday that no one misses any one of them that dies, not even the parents because they know that their own lives are too brief to hold anything like the memory of a child. All that remains are the bones that drop to earth. Children play with these, though after a day passes, the sun bleached mementoes crumble into the earth. The children don't care at all because more of the bones are always dropping from heaven.

One of these birds flew through the air of June feeling the wind stretch out the shafts of his feathers and ruffle the down underneath. He carved patterns in the air with his wings. He was happy and strong , but gradually he began to feel chilled in spite of the heat that the sun pumped into him. The tips of his feet had turned to stone. He felt as though his heart was being thrust into a bottle an inch at a time. His kind had a history known to him and he knew from these signs that he was dying. All he felt was a sadness as quiet as the air his wings continued to push through. What else could he do? He had felt the sun close to his back everyday of his life and he was glad for that. He began dipping closer to the ground. He tried to aim for a tree or the hard rock of a mountainside because all of the birds that had gone before him had looked for places away from the taint of soil to give up their breath. He hoped to die suspended in the air, that was the most honorable way to end but the bright day darkened in one moment and he crashed into a soft knotted mat of weed. These weeds grew on a rock island inhabited by insects, occasional rodents and tribe of muscular, always hungry lizards - the smallest of which was nearly five feet long. One of these lizards found the bird, breathing and unbroken inside its twisted nest. The lizard nudged hard with his snout but the bird remained buried behind his closed eyes. The lizard smelled warm blood and he was able to see enough of the creature in front of him to know that this was a source of energy and a full feeling. There was something else about this prey though, something that made it different from all the other things that he'd hunted and eaten. The lizard smelled blood and at the same time he smelled the heart of another creature closing up and shutting down. He smelled the heart of a creature that loved its breath as much as he loved his own. The lizard fell in love. He was desperate to save the bird, but there were only two things that he knew how to do well. He knew how tho swallow things whole and he knew how to beat another living creature senseless with his huge, heavy tail. The lizard scooped the bird into his shovelike lower jaw. He didn't swallow the bird. Instead, he held the bird in his mouth letting the juices flow and wash around it. He even swished the bird back and forth a little. He could taste what was in his mouth and he was frightened. He longed to eat the bird - the evocative taste on his tongue was more delicious than any meal that he'd ever had but he didn't allow himself to swallow. Finally, he knew that he couldn't resist filling himself and he rolled the bird out, wet and sticky, onto the cold stone at the base of a sea cliff. The bird rolled onto his stomach and slowly opened his eyes, struggling to his feet when he saw the lizard. Wings flapping he rose a foot and stayed there hovering, still weak, in front of the lizard's face.

"I'm not dead."

"No," said the lizard. "You can fly away when you're able, if you want to. Or..." he gestured with his massive head to the cliff. "You can go stay up there. Or..." he lowered his head and looked at the grey stone between his scaly feet. "You can stay here with me."

"But you'll eat me!"

"I'll try not to. I promise you that."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I haven't eaten you yet."

"If I don't fly every minute that I breath than I'll die."

"Oh." The lizard felt his heart expand and shatter and then pull back together in ragged fragments. There was nothing in all the history of his kind to prepare him for this or for the tears that dripped out of his small yellow eyes. The bird stared at the water dripping across the lizard's scaly face. He had never seen anything like it.

So the bird stayed in the air but he flew near the island and kept close to the lizard as he walked on the rocky beach. The lizard walked all day, stopping only long enough to eat. He forced himself to stay awake so that he and the bird could spend every moment together as long as the sun was up. each day. When night came, the bird flew off to the higher air and the lizard finally went to sleep. Every fifteenth day at 2:00 pm, the bird collapsed and the lizard scooped him up into his massive mouth and held him there until the bird revived. They spent nine years together this way. One day, the lizard walked into the sea and disappeared beneath the waves. The bird circled in the air for an hour until he was sure that the lizard was not going to surface. Then, he headed back for the mainland and flew above it for the five days left in his life until he died and his bones fell to the earth for children to play with.