In the Morning, the Birds

In the morning, the sun lands
in the dark old places
while the river lives in the ground.
Why do I see like this?
Stars disguise in the black masks of ravens,
behind them all’s foretold.
The marsh is wild with thistles and wrens.
The blue jay is revealed,
leaping from the camouflaging sky.
A cardinal lives in my chest,
deeply, far away.

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