and a mockingbird outside
the window is looking at you
cocking his head first one
way then the other so each
eye in turn can pick you out and
grasp you as you hold his gaze
you sitting on the green couch
him perched in the green trellis
why the hell are you always
writing about birds
annoyed she asked
they carry the world’s thoughts
into the heights when they die
I say and what falls to earth
from that is love or fate
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