Photo: Willy Somma

 

I.

The tongue finds the sparrow

softly nestled in the cheek;

a white call of feathers plumes

wild in each throat. Our murmurs,

pulled thin through the narrow

beak, coming to settle

inside the other.

Consider the gasp, teeth-caught,

consider this whistle through

the mind’s thick chapel,

where you found me sounding

the warmest note.

Sire the muscle

bruise bone

make music of your brittle animal.

 

Les mer «Kingdom-come / Safiya Sinclair» →