i fully intended to write a poem
today about sleep deprivation
and impossible deadlines
but, a dollar bill appeared in my path
in the cold foggy haze of morning
as winter transitions into spring
i folded the dollar and
tucked it into a pocket
for safekeeping
two birds, dappled grey and blue
sought comfort in the branches
of an overgrown bush
is one dollar in
the pocket worth
two birds in the bush?
i stood on the sidewalk and
questioned the value of the
slip of paper in my pocket
and the value of the birds