THIS WARRANT IS A RENT
The very same cardinal which landed on
my bed post this morning is now outside
my window as well. Looking in, as if with
something to say. It's senseless, as I invite
it in it flies away again. I sense a tiny glimmer
of eternal recurrence; these poor birds, over
and over a hundred times a day; the extreme
wariness, that flight and frenzy, the nervous
watch for things astray. We make a big deal
about the joys of being a bird. I'm not so sure
if that's really their way.
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