It makes perch upon my shoulder and digs its needles through my skin.
Sinks beneath my being silently to let it in.
Beacons to the shadows growing strong from frailty of light.
Scarcity of nutrient, cloaking darkness over sight.
Its gaze can see in front of me, its eyes aside my own.
It knows the past behind us. Hollow as its bones.
It walks along my stanzas unknown to ever rest.
It plays me like an instrument with reeds that know me best.
It’s silent on my arm except when pecking at my soul.
Its claws are born to ridicule and turn a body cold.
My sparrow soars through wind and flesh and digs between the seems.
It lays its eggs at night to haunt tomorrow from my dreams.
It’s light as half a drop of rain but perches like a rock.
Its pupils soak in glory stole from time, it bleeds my clock.
It holds the present captive weighed in stone and built from ice
And stands upon my body never interested in flight.
My sparrow’s healthy as a sunrise with its warmth to glow and spread
But it’s dark as night in color wound eternal is its thread.
It feeds and breathes and grows its grip and sinks its toes persistent
It leads from its tumultuous heart unknown to be repentant.
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