Itziar Verría’s Birds—2017

the silence of winter—
the common loon

dreams of summer’s lush lakes,

rushing rivers, it’s an ache

obvious in the eye
the silence of winter—

caught up in that arctic loon’s throat

that faint, ascending whistle,

touching the edge of night
the silence of winter—

my red-throat gulping salt

& flotsam, I tilt skyward, 

with not a song, nor a dream,

only this sash, this blooded scream

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