Bird

Bird, visiting me on my unlatched window,if you were to sit on my blankets, I would notshake you out with a broom. I am rarely happy,and your arrival, I think, was the coronationof mood. Outside, wisps of trashfind courage from the wind, then collapse.Everywhere, effort appears titanic.Tesla was in love with a pigeon, but I simply admireyour basic mobility. Come here, bird.Be my body. I want to be very small,small-brained, my home in the largest sky.