Philanthropic glass birds wheel overhead.
I am a litany of byproducts.
My ocean is killing me,
Clipping onto me with Mary blue claws and
pulling a piece off at a time.
Suggest yarn,
rope,
a tale of few cities.
Something to tie and bind me,
amoeba shaped and expunged.
You are my cilia,
take me where the crystalline birds nest.
Miniature Moon 