The black bird
on a black tree
sprouting black
leaves

whistles
at me; me,
in my blended sweater
wooden bench

my skin dipped caramel
and the glint
of inside lamplight
against my watch face.

The black bird
on a black perch
sings my soul:
serenity.

The corners of my toes
are chilled,
the darkened breeze
in the tip of my nose

A single star
behind her head
the sky still blue
but just.