Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Sonnet #247

I will fail again, I know this, so will you,
We'll fail at what's important and what we need
We'll fail also at what matters little, and we'll bleed
for those tiny things. We'll fail, and fail, and be blue
I nearly killed three birds: I thought their nest
was empty in the attic vent, it was not, and their
faint chirps for two days felt like echoes, there
where so many birdsongs echo, until they pressed
against the new metal screen, sad and desperate
Fledglings ready to fly, but trapped, they had hid
While we had reached into the corners, nest despots
Yanking all the down and straw away. We did.
We did. We monsters stapled metal, and it's hot
I failed the birds. I cut them free. I hope they live.

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