their bones were hollow, fragile
perfectly placed within
situated geometry
their skin tender, thickened by moments
layered in growth, within
the stability sawn short
they once alighted the branches
from heights, prospecting
within a realm of ticks
situated clocks
their thoughts were hollow, breakable
forming consecutive rings
within which, human fingers
situated sounds
hastily, they cut through
the wind and their wings
drifted to the bottom, broken
love the opening and closing lines of this. like perfect bookends of language.
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