Fresh-born birds chirp
hidden and wild under
brush-stroke clouds and a flamed tongue
breaking through, my god,
thoughts chatter, chatter,
my own bush-full
the greedy pipe up, survive,
and babies born hungry, more so

I want to give it up
sacrifice my rib-bones
for some god to take back – 

Hibiscus, flush in pastels
whispers this is bedrock
these are buoys
flecks of sound
the dawn-god speaking

 – But I can’t palm daylight
or surrender

My breath
chops on regardless
like a tide
clouds carve and sweep
apertures above apertures
chatter, chatter
as the sky opens
yes,
opens