RACHEL TOBIN

spring

 

tin can

chatter

small thrusts

of song

 

swing me up

 

on the collarbone

of morning

sun pours up

nests dream

 

of spitting

 

startled chicks

homeward

and the upside

down cerulean

 

dish of sky

 

is a cool-eyed

mother

holding

watching

 

 

 

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