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.
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