Been there since summer, stuck between panes,
now a still, black blight against the snow.
My unbelieving eye feigns a resurrection–
sure I have seen a hinged leg twitch, but no.

Pressed ahead by reckless faith
that saved him from so many swatters, papers,
he must have forgotten himself for
a speck of food, a mirage of sky.

– Teresa Kiplinger

 See how I incorporate my poetry into my jewelry work here.

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