good morning to you, the last drop of your family,
distilled into this fluttering bird form,

buoyed endlessly by unseen songs of many generations, spirits all having fun, marching in circles around your life, banging pots and pans, wearing aprons and overalls and their Best Sunday Clothes; picking flowers and baking pies; making with their hands,

and always talking, laughing, talking talking until it becomes a near solid in the affairs of the worlds,

and you, whether you know it or not, get to wear it all like the blanket around your shoulders that is just enough to keep going, on the coldest of nights.