new machine, new clean look, i hesitate to make my mark
gold finch at the feeder near the window
close enough that I am familiar with frequent visitors, a male
now sleekly golden, with bandit black crown, like a beret that his slipped. the birds a distraction
i hadn’t sought this morning waiting for grandchildren to boom
into the quiet kitchen. and always, baiting a poem
from the pool of the sky.
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