Oh Hai canary, I see you

climb. If I were a mine then

you would come up singing

radical, a silver-edged

fresh yellow pipe with white

sound, pine moondial. & how

bird- magicked, our best trick,

are you glued only by light?

The years of feeding Twiglets

through neverending channels of

canvas, trying to make a home of

me, for you eggling. Now you spur

with courage, the burgeoning heat

of a bobbin. Don’t fret birdie,

we’ll spin our endless nest from

every better thing we ever did

and you can rest, quiet in your

pink terrarium. So, buffering in

your life pod, we’ll do for you,
and you will do for everything.