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When the Birds Fall Silent
Like a Disney movie, sparrows fly in my head.
An hour after coffee I grasp reality as if it were
survivable.
A deep snow drifts into camel humps
a few reckless birds have escaped my skull
to awkwardly bounce in the heavy
and glassy air.
The hours ride two-toed ungulates
into a dredging darkness.
My mind now is cluttered with dying bluebirds.
The sparrows have become
ice features in a frozen museum.
This is the way the day ends,
not with chirping,
but with tattered feathers
strewn upon a blank Landscape.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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