A bonus — This Unseen Bird

This unseen bird (I think)
leaves me gifts every morning —
a feather heartachingly red,
a pristine moth coccoon.
Or I imagine things —
I’ve never seen the bird,
he may not even be red,
he never speaks to me.

I prefer to believe
this unseen bird
leaves me gifts every morning.

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This is a rough draft and subject to change, as always. My goal was to write a poem using more everyday language. I read a lot of ee cummings when I was younger.