And something changed in a bird-twitch

Just as the jay on an opposite roof twists

Away, and the blue and the stripes of black

Exit my window view. And just like that

Your hands and their small hairs were snatched away,

Fine stripes of black gone: it was getting late.

Would your blue nails be kept to yourself

Not to trace the arm freckles of someone else?

Different birds wind up in different windows’ views:

But you’ve left my window to go to his room.