blackbirds gnarled by the sun,
wings bent at a 90 degree.
ugly and desperate and
moving just to stay alive.

tides at midnight,
moon-bathed and tired
of an ancient push and pull,
this game worn thinner 
than the gossamer bride veil
sparkling silver on the 
black of the water.

willows draped unflinching,
unapologetic, unable 
to grow apart.
clinging. 
gleaming in the light.