Laying his head on my chest
in the still dark morning, he fell
silent, holding his breath.
I thought I heard something.
He grabbed his stethoscope and exhaled
to warm the metal before pressing it
against my bare skin.
I hear a murmur.
He placed the buds of the scope
in my ears and the room swam away
with the hurry of my own blood:
a beat then a swish—wind rushing
through a door left open, a murmuration
of starlings flooding an open sky.
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