We parted. Puffs of smoke pock-marked the sky,
each floating where a small bird had exploded
and left a drift of singed, fragmented feather.
The ground was strewn with tiny bits of beak.
We both were sad. As also was the weather.
We parted. Puffs of smoke pock-marked the sky,
each floating where a small bird had exploded
and left a drift of singed, fragmented feather.
The ground was strewn with tiny bits of beak.
We both were sad. As also was the weather.