grackle ovenbird You are a black hole of sleek iridescence, an oil slick pooling over the lawn, a patent leather gleam. When you look at me I can see whole galaxies turning in your eyes. If I could make myself small and dress in the finest feathers I would invite you to dinner and we could feast on acorns, relishing the crack against the keel of our jaws. I would speak to you in your own language. "Readle-eak" I would say. "Chack" you would reply. And I would bob my head in understanding and pass you the plate of worms. After, we might go out to the garden to clean our wings with marigolds then wander about the lawn where the grass would touch us everywhere--soft fingers smoothing our feathers. Once my imaginings disperse on the breeze like so much dandelion fluff I stand in the sunshine and yearn for the simple joy of being only what I am. I dream of coming home to roost, pressing my body to another's, and having nothing but warmth pass between us. 250423 what's it to you? who go blather from