I got used to, tag-netting the fury of the titmouse, sometimes...

photo by Jeff Nadler ©

these are the predicates of my exasperation

on a winged command

fuzzy recollections swindle

swaddle long night fertility

for bright futures

tilling into what

I see of myself

listening, tasting

the held notes

bouquet-latching, onto

personal information

overloading what I hold

to carve into

all of my memory

at the bridge between

every gate of persuasion

and seeing yourself

another mirror is

leading you back

painting black to silver

reflecting caught light

you fight yourself

from every side

you keep purposed

to the dark

the home defense line

being tied to the birds

stays inside morning cries

the picked clean eyes

are Winter’s

barethroat-ed

survival modes

tufted belly down

nesting is easy

when its cold

and all you have

is the waiting

EJR ©