Lovebirds roost on the broken-down swings
behind our avocado tree. Yellow crumbs
dust our sheets as gently as his palm on my leg
when he asks Why birds? Why envy them
like gods?
I’m tired of watching birds, unthinking
Read MoreSearching For Us - Philip Levine
Two ten-inch phonograph records, Bluebirds
going white, that won't give up their music.
My uncle's perfect clothbound book
that opened the secret of electric growth.
My mother's gap-toothed tortoise combs.