Only a purple line, a single stroke,
sweep of frictionless calligraphy divides
the night from day, the land from sky.
Each morning, you inscribe the message
left before your door, decipher what’s
been written in the avian, depicted
in the characters of birds: swallows hawk
insects in invisible script, graceful swirls
of Arabic. Downy woodpeckers: steady Morse.
Last night, tornado warnings.
Today, a single trumpeter swan
flies south against the wind.
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