with each click, one bird became nothing
in the sky.
my morning was a morning –
it started with breakfast,
a space seen through hotel blinds,
in which there flew too many birds.
a word we underlined in pencil
and wrote “onomatopoeia” in the margin.
a cheap trick.
i broke the stress relief thing
over my keyboard –
i spent some time vacumming up sawdust
between the “Qwerty”,
“from the French”,
meaning “A small water creature”,
so small it cannot breathe.
i hummed the only song that
i forgot to put on my ipod,
went to another meeting,
and mourned the loss of a friend.