by Kevin McAuley
Now the meal is over.
Only bones and scraps of
meat remain.
Birds twitter at the back
window,
Eating the black bread you
set there.
Falling away, like pendulums,
They swing low over the
trees
And disappear northward,
Carrying the touch of your
fingers
Inside warm bellies.
Poem copyright © 1994 Kevin McAuley
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