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birdsong

today the house
is quiet. i can hear
early morning chirps

and trills through
the sun tinged back
glass. vinyl spins

slowly, steadily,
thirty-three and
a third times every

minute to be
exact. it’s James Taylor
if you were wondering.

his lyrics wander and
twist around the meaning
of many things. and i

sit in this empty
house. i will make breakfast
later, for myself.

it’s so fantastically still.

i cannot even remember
the sound of your
voice mingled with James’.

but if i lost my hearing
today, i’d never forget
the sounds of these

birds, just singing away
outside my windows.

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