into the soft grey, awaiting (they are swans) fields flocked, golden straw a scent beyond the scarlet dawn
—and here! found! something glimmers a crack in the chest
would that the ink and rosewater (a flavour beyond despair) soak seeds without potential instead, invite
how then? the ripeness and depth? not clutched but brushed —
an open passage, sailed (they are starlings and robins) while fibre and bark mix threads to warm the hidden cover