sip it from a tin glass.
Inside the rising sun who has yet
to warm the dew, or morning air,
a sparrow nestles soft with a redbird
in the bare and blustered branches of a tree,
and tucks his head into a downy groove,
fuzzy as a peach, while his breast moves
slow and sweet like the heave in a harbor,
or waves washing on a beach;
but then lifted in singing ardor,
a dazzling tune; tsunami.
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