birds ellipse with snow in viscous sunrise,
drawling to the green read south so quiet and early
the birds all take perfect shape with us
when we stop this time to watch
their wobbling cone’s edge precess as our orchestration
explaining what we’d have if we thought rightly
washing the city in flattering geometry
the pinnacle of every cone
the origin of their circling
point fixed lately to my stepping foot
their nodding having waved us on,
but kindly.
Thank you feather-legged keen-eyes
for the gift
like a coin flipped,
honored.
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