There are many things to be said,
A tiny bird in a square patch of light
You locked the door but forgot to close it
So it flutters at every banging crash in the frame
Wind will be a guest always, coming in to the city
We have historically excused ourselves and shouted, projecting, over it’s head during dinner

Maybe one day you will hold me close in bed, in the after-dark,
Whispering, and my laugh fogs up your chest

We listen while it rummages for a snack in the drawer