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lights on my windowsill,
calm, definitive.
I think its eyes are on me
nesting under the eiderdown,
unblinking into the dawn’s
lifting darkness. But it’s only
pecking away at its reflection
on the rain-spotted glass.
Yesterday, someone I knew died.
We were like feathers brushing
against each other’s cheek.
I pull the comforter closer
to my body. The sparrow
beats its wings––
whistles its two-second song.