The Girl and the Bird

Bird, so free

  of a perfect afternoon spring, 

linking time even through modernity.  

  

A phantom face, wrapped my exchange 

and put my body to sleep, 

  deeply reminiscing.  

Lips to mine, eyes half between now, 

  feel the arms 

  sliding to pull my skin-

  there was nothing there of course.  

  The Birds are bright lately, even exuberant through the night.  

  

  I had always missed him.  like the purple of a sunset cast; like the arriving too late on that hill, knowing he left

 the mornings and the birds 

  have since, tweeted that essence 

had, reminded me of my own love, 

  against his shadow light

and the sun, became a representation 

of my uncondition for this man.  

I see love in everything now...

perhaps because 

  he was never caught?

Perhaps because, when I look up at the sky, 

I know he is still out there, 

proving that love caries the distance of the sky and life

and well into death.  

My bird may not have the capacity to love.  

Can he, it shall not minutely compare to the capacity invested in me…

  neither had it stopped me from giving up my whole soul though

  to the perfect stranger 

of perfect nihilism 

  that bore a rebirth 

no better than my death…

yet.. 

my love  to him remains as innocent as nature itself- 

 perfectly unfair and unhinged, and yet graced with a humble divinity only The Creator can claim invention on.  

I am innocent because loving you, makes me so.  

perhaps, closer up, my love might change, might not remain so innocent, 

  seeing as how, dear mockingbird, 

you do not play so well; 

but I iterate, that it is the soul’s fire, caught wind by you- some unbelievably intrinsic force that I think snagged us both, but a storm had carried you off.  

  .so brief.  

paused   then 

  

  

  for all of eternity... 

Just realized.  

                              Checkmate.  

Clever, was I caught by it all.  

the fight, the flight

 and now, 

recovery.  

all while,  though, 

eternity 

      has    paused