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Fluttering robins louder than my singing
are violent on the lawn where they’re fighting
over a worm—No!—I’m wrong. As quiet
as a junkie gets sticking the needle
in no matter what funny business
preceded it—Like a junkie suddenly
silent one bird enters the other shooting
the life force so still it makes me stop
playing to watch what I thought was a war
being fought not this sudden making love
done in dandelions and fog. The robins
hop and pull together to come apart
as I put the guitar down, not a thought
no sound at all but for the rain that falls.


a robin in the spring
a robin in the spring

bird fish

about to bloom

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