Gregarious bird am I, that alone cannot be.
Perched on cindered thorn, with feathers thinly worn.
On Vale of leaf and bark and chestnut brown.
Off coloured clouds hang low and breathe deep down.
Oh to take a leap and not know where you’ll land.
These feelings lie deep but they are still to hand.
Drawn soft in your skin and fingers and bones white.
Off coloured photos that leap off page at night.