...into night. They are not mine, they are their own, and they do with me what they will. I faithfully follow them into poems and sing them into songs.
Kildeer
I get you mama bird… Why fly? When you run like you do.
Whispy hashmarks In sand and snow, Ephemeral record A few will know.
Let them wonder— Never say why You take to streets When you easily fly.
Stay grounded mama bird… This small piece, Is still your own.
