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Vogue





















Rising from a slice of dark night crow and hobgoblin dreams of doubt,
a petite bright eye turns over in her crumpled morning nest.

There we witness the work of trickster dared who has plaited and placed
a whimsy crown atop the unconscious slumber of this precious nuthatch noggin.

 Is this an exercise, starling coos, just waking
unanticipated occasion to be other, taller, more majestic?

I needed a little trim, she warbles to herself, just to take the extra away 
but instead this natural extension, perhaps, is the pristine, greener me. 

Imagine what the pufflings and keet will make of me now,
formerly hidden within the party, wishing secretly instead 

 to wedge with swans.

(for my friend)


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