Wound

up earlier than wings
how to tell hours
you don’t care for numbers
blue whispers

what is just
is without hope
blue whispers form
grass listens first

cat rubs her face
on death’s craggy face
it’s papier-mache
the skull in the window

the sounds of birds
before birds appear
are you a transcription
of yourself?

what is just
it’s papier-mache
blue whispers over a skull
now wings arrive

without hope’s burden
blue is more here
are the birds just a transcription
of themselves?