Tuesday, 5 February 2008

The Birdkeeper

Here I am maddened
by what he gave me.
From the fourth floor of
this spell I will make
circles in the darkness-
I won't sing.

An aimless ascent
In the mote filled air,
Beaten and stricken
with mistiming. I
flutter past his door
on a spot, home in.

a blot on the moon,
He sleeps and rises
without me.

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