Bright broken things

The lapwing’s call

Falls a bright broken bell

In the shell of my ear:

Moor-gleanings;

A Fossil of heartache

In a thin gather of rain.

Folding pain in its spooled-out

Skein of song. Lilting long

After the close of the cropped throat:

The whining note.

One thought on “Bright broken things

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