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The Kinglets

They were here yesterday;
twig-boned birds looting bugs 
from bark and limbs.

We watched them together,
your frown intact, your eyes
hating the sunlight.

I focused on the kinglets,
tried to see their crowns
as you left with an air
hard as petrified wood.

And as the birds calmed to preen,
blades of grass,
crushed by your feet,
were upright and good,
as though you never happened.