to every creature drawn to this fleeting moment, the period we have to appreciate each other is nearly over.
sentient beings
The Chickadees
do not land in my palm because they trust me. I am a phantom they barely notice. They sense my body heat, the blood coaxed through my thin veins like tree sap, and they hear my vibrations, the way Beethoven coped with going deaf, stopping long enough to bathe their tawny-colored tongues with seed, crushed seashells of safflower and thistle, […]