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Drafts, Fauna, Poetry

Constructing Birdhouses

Small bits of tinsel between my teeth, building
a home from words wrapped
in strings of cool blue and earthy tans.

Each weave a subject stuck by ad-hock adhesive:
mud, clay, feathers, the tangle
of a spider’s web no longer being spun.

Can you tell I’m a bird, fluttering
against wind?

The ache of labor, imperative to build
shelter; to become restless in cooling wind.

Neither cavity nor cup,
but crumpled paper and leaking ink.



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