into the soft grey, awaiting
(they are swans)
fields flocked, golden straw
a scent beyond the scarlet dawn
—and here! found! something glimmers
a crack in the chest
would that the ink and rosewater
(a flavour beyond despair)
soak seeds without potential
instead, invite
how then? the ripeness and depth?
not clutched but brushed —
an open passage, sailed
(they are starlings and robins)
while fibre and bark mix threads
to warm the hidden cover