As It Should Be

I rise
in the morning.

A sparrow
flutters through

my room
like a heart

in fear,

against windows,
clutching, panting

on the curtains.

And I am
like a ghost

to this poor bird.

When I was
sleeping, I was a tree

or a large
agate stone or

even a very quiet
stream traveling alone

through the hillside.

Again, I laid
back into my bed,

holding my breath;
once again his world

was calm
as it should be.

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