red-breasted nuthatch

Hath nut notch a breast hat. My little birds flit fast, like little bombs they dive seemly straight towards me. But not the window, and somehow stopping perfect at the little wooden house filled with black oil sunflower seeds. And their straight little nutcracking beaks hold the shells of one or two. The female is so full with eggs by now she barely can find food to feed. Her man goes around for two and brings back for her, the darling. I like a little high peeping he makes to wake me. Even before I have glasses on early I watch him around.

fullness

The total amors, one hundred! The pretty little hundred amors. I like the thursday, the fridays, the claps of hands rhythmically and can't tell is it raining still or no. Not and not ever, always moving. But the heats and the tiny dots and patterns in. The reds, the browns, the blues. and my own cloths surrounding, the purples and browns of me all texured.

Hundreds of little amors, I kiss at you days go by.