Orange sun, warm spill of sensation,
over my head, my face,
my shoulders, back, belly,
legs and feet,
my toes,
inside of me.
I heard a wing of feathers
slipping through the air
of quiet. The other wing
came too.
I wanted the sound to land on me,
or so close the song of its
body would open my eyes.
Trust is being blind
and understanding you
still see.
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