starlings and small birds of the hollows in my
nesting-box – my most powerful
patrons my playmates
first of all – my soul’s well-
balanced candles with waxed
beak wicks, spotted
miniature peacocks with
pearl wreaths and golden
rings on their little legs – they’ll be caught
and gathered up but not really, plucked
but not really, it’s only what’s sung
in a song, what’s imagined
that everything – from nothing – was so