If Bird

_1430974 - Version 2

You would be my loon

calling long past light,

my mourning dove, my

sweetest finch flashing

sun from black as night.

 

If my bird you were I’d

feed you nectar from my

palm and plant thick trees

for you to rest and nest until

I could transform my arms

and hands to feathered limbs—

our hearts remade as song.

 

Thank you to the editors of The Tishman Review for first publishing this poem.

wpc

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