Birds of a Feather

The twisting reach of my arm stuck in the sleeve shaking like a finch flustering in the marble basin as if in slow motion startled the place into a swift, shifting mess of feathers that were flocked and gathered at the water's cemented edge, cracking waiting for winter to pass which led your snowflake speckled eyeslashes to turn toward me, melting and in that one, heavy, foggy breath we met.