struts
on the steel sill.
Claws clatter. Its little bill
knocks the pane.
My clockwork keeps a rhythm,
beware the scare.
How humble this hard row.
Voices shatter
the pigeon clamour.
I've made a nest for them
a crown of twigs in
the enamel litter bin.
Every creature
loves a place to stay.
Wood-borers whittle fistulae
in the ledge where the husks rest.
The wind twists.
My pretty hearth is dry.
I winnow the brittle
endocarp of my pome.
