On the Miracle of Cups and Twine

On a day unlike ours —
how many hours
on a string loose strung
does our starling love pulse
between a pair of paper cups —

You, over there, not far,
but further than you’ve ever been,
dismissed to the dispensary —
old tools, vague tones,
muffled in a string between cups.

But delightful, so delightful —
mis-clarity or Our love,
pugnacious in twine, distorted,
metallic as grackles,
distant as inches pulled
between one window
and the next.

Image: Anton Lecock on Unsplash

2 Thoughts

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