Birds fly low to new loam
Gleaning a bit of twig and brush,
Lifting off and airborne
Making home
Plumbing season’s architecture
Fluttering thru the chill
And more than any hallmarked words
Scientific paginations
Their deep knowing settles
Into my waiting bones,
While the
Geometry of their evidence,
Empiric, always startling anew,
Wings icy winter’s discontent
Into the newborn ether of
Just an ordinary day.
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