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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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BIRD THROAT

 

 

We stand under the bird with 1000 throats,

waiting to touch earthweight—

each song      dusk light spinning

thimbles on our fingers.

Our skin folds under palm         

                                    molten around edges.

Dark weight. A black wound

stretches over water.

New ghosts. A tiny island.

How will this moment pass through us?

Which pieces collect and which will sift?

We promise things and wish well, even

when it tastes bad to our voices.

We stand under the bird.

                              Natasha L. Kessler