Feathers in the Blue

A caw splits the dark, sharp and ragged—

sparrows argue above the roofline,

a messy choir rehearsing the day.

I stare through the windowframe,

a slice of pale light smeared with feathers,

tiny ghosts left in the unmade dawn.

No sleep, no shelter—only the wild chatter,

where restless birds claim morning first,

while I count the cracks in my ceiling.

Between wingbeats and breath,

my eyes swim through the slow light,

trapped in the unquiet featherfall.

They don’t pause for me.

Nor should they.