To bird’s chirp and dive, that rudy
feathered accordian of morning come,
all those dancing couples, whose rain
had still more to run, the flight paths
realigned above and then did I wonder,
where is the succoring song gone?
Where is the soft calamity of winter’s
frost?  Where is the old man, named the
same, that carried me to sleep and back
home again?  My robbins, my finches,
my filthy crows, and bright eyed robin
riches, how you the early morn decor,
both with song and with sorrow, or
brightness I can indelible see evermore.
Diaspora of feathers’ fate brought you
among, so that I may find rags of lingering
night, before that rising we call the sun.


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