Half-bird Poem

They are keepsakes
whichwhatever words.

they're kept for ideas
that became human
and wandered off.

or other selves fallen
from parapets like sick birds

these whichway when-whatever words
empty walnut shells floating
on leaf-littered stormwater

that arrive in a thatch
arch bundle
bird pooped
bird tired

arrived at grey flocks.
array stopped swans
swimming for day

and those who live
in my streets
the retaining walls held back
the spit of stars, flakes of missed
correspondence

it held back the fro
of visiting storms
that we meet with umbrellas
or wished-for barques

for those who live on my streets
gifts come from mouths full
of wave and wont

the coo of warm misery
here is hat and habitat.