AvaClaire

She idly
dances her fingers on
the window pane
her hand
small
and fragile
unbaked dough
yeast rising in the
early morning sun
marker smudges
on her fingertips
a single sticker
on the back of her 
hand

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
your frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
you frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder

The fox is washed in by
the dust
and in the car lights he 
seems afraid
but his furry haunches
propel him across the 
frozen potholes
and with his tail a plume of exhaust
he leaps over the ditch 

The rook
has eyes for me
in the woods
with ebony
talons he grips the 
branch 
he came long ago
and
the trunk 
already washed over
his feet
I doubt he would
ever die
the rook needs 

My teeth click
as the bus
bumps down
the dirt road
The mountains
are firmly pasted
below the clouds
the trees lose their
definition in the early
morning light
they appear to be 
paper cutouts