how your macaroni fingers would bend and straightenbend and straightenhow your marble eyes would roll and focusroll and focushow your mother would look at you and see me.
Those birds are scared of nothing.
Their beaks disturb the dark leaf piles
because something in there sustains,
and they want it.
Something that will take them forward
toward warmer nights and clearer days,
as if days came clearer than this,
as if hunger itself would be satisfied.