Like a small bird the sun emerges

and leaves at the end of today.

Small birds like how the wind feels quiet and warm, the sun, he

is yellow completely like the odious days of summer

that wander around the city, buildings reminiscent of headstones.

Little birds know of a very large egg, placed on

top of the sky, cracking to reveal a yolk like a gem.

Busted egg in a pan dips down the sky to rest right there,

on days like these everyone has the sun, and people rush about carrying

their hearts in jugs and the world is shiny,

glistening. Small bird: hop around the corner;

egg sun: don’t give up the good fight;

jugs of hearts: get bruised in a wind tunnel.

When I see you, yolk cracks into my hair, heart rushes,

Little bird, you always come in late.