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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