then ascended to rosy fingernails.
Grey-browed dawn memory
sat next to her smallest gesture.
I rest in the shadow of her wings;
she has dreamed me awake.
I batten empty windows
and tie down the flood gates.
Her milkweed hand in hourglass relief
paces the paper's consonants,
then birdsong vowels dance
on the fragile precipice.
of this vagrant daughter.
I wash my tiny face
then walk back into her sunlight.
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