Bird Kestrel

To that de facto window
Where you catch all sorts of birds

Ones with feathers and ones with dermis,
That become with time,

A non-sense that ruffles nothing
Except the mirror of a once-lived summer

When ornithology was not
To lure the bird-brained lovebirds,

Only to make you Audubon
Unzipping his bird-trap,

To where birds go, beak first
And form later.

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