Untitled

We believe in nothing. Just
like how this poem starts: we believe
it needs sound from two birds chirping, perched on the edge
of their nest. We know their shadows as light
strikes from outside the window to the surface
of our hands weaved together. How light and sound
these words are; they fill our days when
we confess our miseries, these birds fly
to our windowpane, wanting to live here. Look,
then listen: we know this poem’s name.

after Carissa Pobre’s “Because I Love You”

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