Willow baskets 

Sunrise slips through my bedroom window,

slips through glass to spill sounds

 of sparrows slurping sunlight in grass

onto small breathy clouds puffing 

from my daughters sleepy lips,

the old gas heater quivers like a crow nervously plucking it’s feathers 

such a big black bird who plunks walnuts here and there

bird song, and breath and nuts mix with a yellow yolked sun 

on the counter

where the kitchen  bowl sits

near wild flowers blooming on wallpaper 

aging aprons of sheet rock enfold wooden beams 

whose hands crick 

as they flick 


to trees 
  who gather sunlight in willow baskets


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