by Josie
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.
