Bird wing.




It is here, in the smallest of things where a trees breath glimmers, twinkles itself to death. Exhale.  Whats that noise ? Can you hear it ? Its only the wind you say. I raise my face, ready to run headlong, as usual. Giddy. There, see, look up my cushie-doo. Hundreds and hundreds maybe more, bird bones whoosh so close their feathers shiver my skin.

I laugh.