It had changed enough to notice, enough to reach
For blankets to cover a 20 degree separation between
Warm and tepid.
Degrees or years, our separation allowed me to place my perspective,
Which colors are my feathers and where they smoothly
Assimilate to the rise and fall of a drake’s breast.
After losing its brilliant feathers he resembles the hen,
Then the early fall when pair bonding begins again.
We are not unalike, the drake and its hen.
Your bright speculum lost through one season
To the next, the cycle of things gained and gone.
I have collected those feathers, one by one.
Amassed in shades and hues for saturation,
Evidenced in the contrast of our lives, one plume at a time.
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