Tessa Michaelson

It is a Great Pity

The city warms us as it wills,
Then shrinks our lips in cathedrals of black ice.
But this is really more about me.
It is a great pity to exist
And to draw the breath full
Of long sighs.
A finger plucks the wafer
From my tongue and draws the green curtain
On an impossible steel capsule,
Where, inside, a secret bird waits
to fold me into his white heart.

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