makes a noise down the crooked line
of bricklayed narrow stairs toward the street.
Beyond the window at home, they fly
faster than how they've been called: blue-
on-green iridescence. I would describe
the bird as quite. This is not the form
I wanted. A tense
changing as the tui lights down
the city street. Take my history from me
I say to the harbor.
A small blur beyond the tree
playing at a leaf or what it might do.
It is a problem of narration,
one where the number could be two
or five depending on how you counted.
I could be easy but I would rather
be honest. I didn't finish the books.
All those rosy charms.
When we have nothing to say
how will we know how to keep loving.
I pause on the long stairway, listening
to the tui. From here we cannot see it.