Poem: 20 Years Later | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

a red bird flew in front of the car today.

not entirely rare, but enough so to be special.

and I wished again that the world was magic enough that I could say,

"every time I see a red bird that means you're thinking of me,"

but I don't think it is, really.

Really, it's only me thinking of you every time I see a red bird

or blue

or brown.

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