Bird Cleaning

Birds scrubbing the winter's time, Traded in the cold for so long, As the first rhythm of spring makes the rain— They sing in as they drop ostracizing muck. Traded in the cold for so long, By the dark synthesis of my soul They sing in as they drop ostracizing muck— Their wings feverish as flower bulbs. By the dark synthesis of my soul, As the first rhythm of spring makes the rain, Their wings feverish as flower bulbs— Birds scrubbing the winter's time.