welkin ovenbird Through the open window you fall, gorget bright as may’s azaleas, and you make a perch of my trembling finger, your wings still wet from the chrysalis that hummed you into flight. I try to smooth the feathers that frame your face and prick my finger upon your beak, a nectar seeking needle, tongue a siphon for sweetness. Maybe you are broken, but still, there’s so much sky. So much blue to dance in, you and I. 260503 what's it to you? who go blather from