we have a memory or two. the world goes dark, we teach and learn, wait for light to appear
it is the way of things, while there are birds. while you read, you will not understand all words, that is the way of things.
it is natural, it is what they do, they live in the wild. . we have no power, they, no disgust that reels and kicks. yet while small birds live, they too will die. like us.
drift. in air, in words. symbols of poetry, cut and pasted. literally. naturally .
everyday tiny things sing.
when some small birds have failed and gone others sound just the same.
touched by the small things, softly, we drew
we cannot delete things we do not like