A newborn mockingbird

rehearses one note 

that turns to a tiny trill 

and becomes a repertoire. 

Your nearness changed

the staves that emptied

its cry as if a flaw. 

The first law of affection

whispers to a suspected self

then calls back, shelves

the fiction of one alone. 

Instead we're hinged

like a door that swings open 

to invite in spring.