The morning is a handful of birds.

(transformations)

i.

the morning is flat
in my hands
in my blood
flows naked in the 
	silence of my room

somewhere
another body
another morning
opens like a chest full of birds
its sound extends to the world 

ii.

divinity of a man 
armed with wind and water
the wind confuses me 
the morning covers my 
belly with rain
i cry out 
the birds answer me
i fall in love again

iii.

the thunder listens
our nudity has its own secrets
the fog rises, breaches my windowpane
our silence is a word without 
	measurement
the morning is a 
	handful of birds

8 thoughts on “The morning is a handful of birds.

  1. What a beautiful poem, L. I’ve always held a strong belief that poetry is always to some extent about the writing process itself, regardless of the writers intentions.

    Liked by 1 person

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