The light is fading outside my window
but behind the curtain
the most beautiful silhouette of a bird
flows through the sheets.
And then for a moment I am well,
content to glimpse the shadows of his wings
singing through the twilight.
And with one flutter he was gone
only for a feather to remain
in the dying sun.
I turned it over in my tarnished hands and
within the weather'd bristles
hope glistened.
photo
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