a singing bird,
flies
into the window.
seeing what?
himself.
you?
bread on
the table?
his beak cracks
the pane
as he tumbles
to the ground.
you look
out and see him,
woozy, lying there,
trying to get up.
finally he comes
around and flutters
his wings.
rights himself.
he takes a few
hops,
flies off, but
he's no longer
singing.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment