I looked at the wings folded, rested

In the armoury, harnessed for the day

Its talons were strong from passing genes

As if on a long journey

through times, our aborigine made it

To this home, for now


The spotted chest heaved and the face

Bent on one side, the eyes, drowsy in the light from the window, tired from the nights prowls

Still expectant for the day to pass

Could this be the barn or the deep dark chest

Of the tree it is used to?


This is just a day stand, where

Nothing will be exchanged, no marks of friendship, no vows, no remorse, no warnings

An unmissable void may be, just a sigh

Will remain in the recess where you stepped

A few hours dedicated to nothing mutual

Talons in my room

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