our crumbled callouses
drifts with the birdsong
upon the fumes of the dark

bruised by the blush
pigeons coo like frogs
after years of singing lessons

fill the hollowness of their feathers
not thin their throats
to just before bursting

prayers not fortunes tightly scrolled
tied to the chipped rose
of their mangled feet

standing upon the tips
of their missing toes
dive into sleep

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