Thousands of Hours of Birds
William Doyle
The morning happened in a torrent
Of thousands of hours of birds
We looked outside with wider eyes upon
The still of nothingness, emergent
The brickwork spread across a depth of field
Each house that caught the light seemed so unreal
And in that afterglow we figured out
The space around us was impermanent
But what happened to us
At the cost of what it was
In blood and/or treasure
To make us feel so lost?
Love happens to us
If we let it happen first
When we thought fortune forgot
But it blooms in the distance