hides behind the leaves and finches. hops from
branch to branch as if his crimson fades to brown
his plain spouse is there too. way towards the end
watching him beat himself against the glass. ignoring
the seeds, the leaves, her. he'll tire soon - her bird
brain thinks - or he will die. and then she will die
but she can't yet - in another place is a nest. more
life is waiting to be born or scrambled - she does
not care which she only prays for warmer weather
