Lyric
The bird makes its nest.
It has reasons. It is alive.
You want to leave it alone.
It has reasons. It is alive.
You want to leave it alone.
The bird,
a few threads in its beak.
I love this peace. It
is like burning.
.
by Ralph Culver
from Both Distances
Anabiosis Presss, 2013
from Both Distances
Anabiosis Presss, 2013