Katherine Gibbel

The Tui

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.

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