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.

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