In The Shape Of A Bird

Every morning before the trees
gently shake away the night
from their slow-golding limbs,

a duo of sparrows nudge past
the crack over my window as
if fleeting bundles of shadows.

While one flies treeward,
the other hops onto the sill
chirping away its small sound

from a perch of dark, her earth-
brown shape revealed to us
under the growing gaze of

a voyeur sun. She moves
her head in motions unknown
to us, as if to hide her

meek reminder of smallness.
As my room brightens, I hear
the rustle of feathers and see

her mouth open into a silent
love song for the other
while streams of dust waltz

to the flap of a crow taking
shape under the morning sun.

—Rohith Sundararaman