Thursday, April 9, 2009

a little poetry for you

Love For This Bird


She makes room in her bird-nest hands, full and woven with various twigs,

sheer feathers,mismatched strings. There is something wrong with the sky

when she collects the things that fall from it, like leaves or clouds,

mostly of ocean. Is she, sky? I ask the ocean for its birds.


Walk softly in her hills, soil bright with moon, all found

in the palm of her smile. Morning finds audience behind

sheer curtains of wave and lacy lines on face. Walk towards

leave and return on her lips. She will make cliffs

out of static rock and hollow birch.

You will inhale as she commands.


Cliffs are scattered with feathers and other things

birds search for. Anticipate earth- like she, the bird,

will guide you home. Shove me back into the mouth

of this ocean, my place. I have left nothing,

there is nothing left and she, living as a bird

in a nest of cliff, soil, and hunger, is alive.

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