That sparrow
scarfing KFC scraps
in the gutter,
has bones in her wing
the same diameter
as the needle that killed
Jimmy and Jane
at Turk and Hyde
last night.
A feather, a breath,
a sorrow.
Inevitable.
The death of a rose
-sweet for a day
or a few.
I thought some things
might make it deeper
than one season.
However,
yesterday’s scent
persists.
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