A TWITCH OF SEVERAL NERVES

A TWITCH OF SEVERAL NERVES.

Bird,

wings, wind arriving.

Clock,

fell sun, face diving.

Darker as bones cramp,

a skivvy for Time.

Discreet sky: a line,

late, perhaps the bird

at flight, or a word

was unwound straight,

merry on its hook.

The stained fingers

that wrote it, long mute,

wearing an ashtray

for their grave of talk.

Twitch,

the silk bird grieving.

Cold,

listen, wind leaving.

By Alex,

copyright delphine