I hear only the sounds. The chirp, the tap, the melody of their song. Before the sun rises. Before the day begins. I listen to the birds.

I hold a cup of coffee, warm in my hands.

It is 47°, and the air is new.

My sister has lived fifteen years in this land.

And unfortunately, death brings me to her. 

In the early hours, the birds remind me

sometimes we are called by life.

Today,

I am called by death.