Sight is a birdBy Michael Eden Reynolds, first published in The Fiddlehead No. 223
atop the spine.
Sleep is the twittering
of the closed eye.
There comes a river of fish
caught in dream’s light.
The bird spreads its wings.
Let it be a kingfisher,
to carry this body of dream into memory.
Let it be a tide of swifts in the gathering dusk
to dive like stars into that black cave.
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