Sparrow Love (extract)

…he arrows from beneath the eaves to return in a tail’s flicker to the drain. Where he struts, the bon mot of a small white feather in his beak, proof to the Beloved how fine a catch he is. As I dream of its ghost kiss against my cheek, the cot this snowy boon will fashion for its prize of eggs, an image drowns my heart. My father, eyes behind his black rimmed glasses shiny with incipient grief. Tears I caught a hint of just the once…