Birdsongs
Sunday morning drizzle
Sitting in this
Sitting with me
Birdsongs
Chirps and chips of nothing
Falling
All around
Falling, dancing
Undoing the veil
Inviting the unknown guest
Pointing, pointing
Blades of the sweetest fire
Then
Walking in all this
Robes flapping in the wind
A shiver in both trees and spine
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