bird sunday

will I always
have the power
of the moon
while waiting
for the moon?

in morning
we walk by
the blue river
lined with snow
& see what
the storm
has done
to the spring
trees on the ground
& birds singing
running from the train

magpie to the morning
coming on the stereo

the bird in the house
where we went
to get sourdough,
flying at my head
then perching on
my finger,
talking to me

the floating door
on the tarpaper house

the song of your voice
bringing tea

yesterday crying
all over you,
this morning
your skin tasting
like salt

all the black birds
with orange throats
flying over blue sky
and apartment

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