Transformation . Out in the light on sitting alone. Sorting, straightening tangled skins. (They're always trying lives in knots.) I would like to be sleeping. Not dreaming, just black out: no one bumping, around in my brain- no angels, no deaths, just quite empty nests, just threads lying straight and ordered and still. outside the window I can see sweet winter birds Rise up from tall weeds chattering. They fly into sunrisen sky that holds them in light.