passerine raze i saw you in the gentle splintering of morning, a blur of red and black feathers warbling the same short story as many times as your syrinx would allow. where your windpipe forked to feed your lungs, you crooned in concert with yourself, knowing the end of the tale you told was good enough to stand the test of time, because it wasn't the end of anything. it was a bridge to the next best beginning our eyes could write after meeting across the garden of green and gold that whirled around us. i would have answered your call, but i was happy just to hear you speak. 220324 what's it to you? who go blather from