ConnorHarrison @HarrysunSee

Montreal Poem #6

Not long after we moved, when every sound was still alien, and new, there was a sudden thud on the living room window, where I found, sitting on the sill as red as a fresh heart, a finch, beating slow, blushing over its public faux-pas And for a while I watched it resting there, its head cocked keeping watch on me, in case I suppose I tried anything funny, which I did want to; I wanted to open the window and bring it in from that sill, where it looked as tender and as lost as a misplaced organ But in the end, worried I might go and ruin its life out of guilt, I put on my jacket and shoes, and walked instead to the shops

We needed milk, I think, or coffee Either way By the time I came home it was gone.