We were giving you back
I wanted to stroke the cavity away
It doesn't just end with the feather-edge or with the woods
Of it and I cradle it so and so
So consumes
The subtle bulbs are changing one by one in the meadow or the freezer room
Neither moon nor lamp permits the blur
It crouches me and I want to be inside the wings and I want to be the wings
I forgot who we were in the onliness of eye to eye
Claws tucked softly up to rice paper eyes
I feel the empty ends of scapula gasping at the sky
I'm too small to be alive. Little birds are flying
Little birds through the blood, little birds inside the palm
Little birds beneath the skin
For always the little bird
Per sempre lo piccolo uccello
For always the little bird