Zenaida macroura



Grey morning creeps in

through open-eyed windows, steals

between the sheets—as


dark as the thought of

cold before it can be felt—

slips through shuttered eyes


sewn shut by colors

dreamed into them without will

or consistency,


and now, just there, just

above the window, grey-winged

mourners come.  Perhaps,


like me, they want the world to

wake up without them.






Trying out a new form that David at Derelict Satellite invented I believe, has definitely 
mastered and been kind enough to loan me....the haiku sonnet.  
Incredible and inspirational work on his blog.   

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14 thoughts on “Zenaida macroura

  1. Pingback: anticipating dinner | whimsy~mimsy

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