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.