"freshwoken" poems
A chirrup beneath my
window syll
"Chirrupchirrup."
A Pipit goes. Café au lait
plumage quavering in dew
and wind.
Splayed on syll sublime
his songs he
sings.
My ears, freshwoken, hear
tender crescendo and I
arise
and start the
day.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC