Of Sparrows and Trees
It cocks an eye at me.
I recall, as a boy, I stood
by a window looking at a sparrow
just like this one.
Every feather could be the same,
even the mien and stance
– the same.
I had never thought of myself
as a tree, yet all my life
I’ve been branching away from first roots.
I'm still changing into something else,
but not this little bird,
it has perched itself on a branch
of my life,
and is caught within a timeless lens
forever.
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